I went out early while June laid in bed like Romeo and Juliet merged as one. I found bags of cut artist’s ears – I am not naming names but rumours abound – and stuffed several in the second hat I keep on my back in case old age pensioner valkyries knock the first one off my head (incidentally it is difficult to find young handmaidens to the gods these days; and even the gods themselves are just reflections of an LED torch). I saw the old king, who was rehearsing a play about his life but kept forgetting some of the lines. I remembered some of them myself while standing on a chair trying to stick a first class light bulb into a second class lampshade. I came home moments after the switch was clicked and a childhood photograph fell off the glass cabinet.