I spoke to the climbing rose rambling up towards the bedroom window (remember it is the side shoots that produce the flowers). I then dressed in wrist watches instead of clothes and arranged the time before walking the dog. A troupe of performing monks came up the road as we walked down it with the various geological epochs balanced over our heads. I looked back once and saw religion somersaulting over their own heads like a view of the African Savannah floating above a suburban street. I imagined the scene when I first moved to this town. Before this I lived where the outside lavatory was several hundred yards away from the back door and there was an orchestra of rodents in the thatch – the dog gnawed on Lee-Enfield rifles instead of bones.