My Diary

I had to go to town with Sinbad clinging tightly on my back (with an old man on his – legs wrapped like cling film – and a bonobo on his – arms smeared in Yorkshire Pudding mixture). I spend far too much money in a shop shaped like an eagle head and came home far too slowly with wings on my carrier bags. Having a gyroscope on my cranium I ascended the stairs like an Easter Island head being erected and worked in my studio as the last member of my race. All the dogs in my painting were riding motorcycles and I had to contend with exhaust fumes as I climbed the north face of the Eiger. I made my descent with shopping bags attached to my arms, hitting the ground with a brush mark just as June walked in a with a litter bin on her shoulder in lieu of a parrot.


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