My Diary

June opened the front door a few moments before I shut the bedroom window; she went up the reflective road while I busied myself building a robot from old car parts – it communicated in exhaust fumes and would only obey commands if they were plastered on a billboard like a naked lady selling overcoats. It started to rain heavily as I photographed a light plane emerging from the kettle spout (I wouldn’t have minded if it hadn’t subsequently crash landed on the toast). The dog had to read a lamp post magazine while I stuck my satellite aerial hand out of the back door and felt the rain drops while simultaneously picking up channel fifteen (this is a channel dedicated to X certificate Toby Jugs and hovercraft beards – I prefer catamaran beards myself).


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