My Diary

I was woken by a child’s doll who had climbed the stairs unaided; I brushed the miniature dragons out of my hair and waited for the children to arrive. They emerged from a baked beans can which had rolled down the hill from where the road bridge stepped over the railway line’s sinewed arm. Poppy jumped with Nijinsky antlers touching the ceiling while June loaded up the rainbow wagon with duck bread and we set off for a fried breakfast adventure. We played like prawns in an otherwise uninhabited ocean – I was a grandpa wolfman with mermaid and merman vampires while the paving slabs became dumplings in gravy. At the end of the day I accidentally called candle flames frogs and the lights slowly closed their eyes.


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