My Diary

I got up a little bit late, looked at the stretched out limbs on the ceiling and then watched a large furry mammal amble down the street while trying out a new pair of shoes from the Pleistocene epoch (pink was big in the Pleistocene). After a spell sitting on digestive biscuits in a world of hot tea June and I went to town. We stood like storks in fast moving water as several generations of the human family drifted by clinging to ever smaller pieces of driftwood – the little boy on the smallest piece was busy whittling it into the immediately recognisable shape of a female baboon holding its young when I threw him a rope; in return he threw me a life raft carved out of stone. I resolved to research my own past until a number of paving slabs rose revealing heads with peering eyes hiding underneath.

My Diary

When I came downstairs June was busy adding the finishing touches to the garden in her hair; she tied in the climbers as a rainbow emerged from one flower pot and disappeared into another – I always think of ships made from papyrus when the sun shines indoors and I was just going to write down a string of Egyptian names I could use as code for my first spiritual computer when the light bulb rained and a flock of starlings landed to pull bright red worms out of an otherwise grey carpet. Simultaneously a train reached the end of the Victorian pier in our Edwardian fireplace and a head emerged from the sideboard; knowing what was coming next I grasped the hand sticking out of the top drawer and squeezed it affectionately before hitting it hard with a lump hammer.

My Diary

I got up in a suit of armour after dreaming of an avenue of electromagnets – the bride and groom ran along it generating an electric current – as the bulb lit up they then went out for the day. In the real world I followed June around a field of bright clothes: next season’s colours among leafless twigs with London accents. I imagined bare arms hanging from the ceiling and bare legs rising from the floor – disconcertingly they in turn imagined me walking through brick walls with my feet in dried flower arrangements and my arms encased in swathes of over ripe fruit. We caught a train which had the Sistine Chapel replicated inside; I stroked my beard like Michelangelo and then pulled a bicycle from a sleeping tiger for an old lady who had the national anthem embroidered on her vest.

My Diary

I walked June to town after accidentally swallowing my electric guitar. We looked at the perpendicular movement of clouds while I played the opening riff of Foxy Lady using my tongue and tonsils. As a joke I pretended the clouds were building sites – the subsequent houses are sold with the catch phrase “only atheists go to heaven” – and earnestly informed passers by that all snowmen are made from concrete. I came home with two hands in my pockets and two more making pistols in the air – I secretly conceived the idea that every gunfighter is immortal and that time doesn’t exist. I had only just settled into the comfortable creative morass of my new studio when June rang asking me to collect the crocodile she was holding while she searched the swamp for more.

My Diary

I have four roadside alarm clocks but still woke up late on the pavement. After a breakfast poured directly on the table I donned a clockwork costume and worked all morning astride a skeleton called scaffolding – in some realities this surrounds a house. June and I had a race track meeting and were then rolled up and stuffed in hexagonal holes like honey (purportedly for working like bees). The pit stop was circling the Statue of Liberty when I sat on a cheese roll in an attempt to work out the gears. I finally got the engine going and had a brief trip out: circumnavigating the car park and then taking in the roundabout where young children evolved into old adults and the crater where overnight an interstellar shopping trolley had crash landed – complete with extraterrestrial special offers.

My Diary

In a particularly vivid dream I was pinned to the wall like a butterfly while June sat like a caterpillar, her antenna entwined with those of the television. I woke to find myself in a chrysalis and with the dog on top of a step ladder trying to put an illuminated cloud in the light socket – typically when I tried to help it rained. June went to town while I made a landscape from second hand books and then got lost in it – I was found some time later by an Arcadian goatherd who I remembered especially for his attempt to keep his hat on with bright red braces (a forlorn act as moments later it ran off in pursuit of a group of motorcycle nymphs). When June returned, in a motorised shopping bag, I had made a house from unread paperbacks and was waiting for the wolf to arrive to blow it down again.

My Diary

Another very early day and I left the house some time before the fusilier had loaded a bowl of grapes in his smaller than normal musket. I caught a basking narwhal to the Arctic tundra and sat with a snow god in his iceberg bungalow. He talked of people with spectacles pinned to their chests and how the man across the road had a tube train running up the left leg of his jeans; I didn’t like to ask what happened in the right but the lady next door said she had heard huskies. When it was time to go I opened the back door and then went out the front. The bus was on time and driven by a man with violin bows for fingers, I waved my ticket like a music score and the old lady in the front seat blew up a paper bag and then popped it, claiming it was just like her life.