My Diary

I woke up twice, the first time into a house where it was impossible to find the front door and the second time as June slammed it on her way to work. I rose like the test run of the prototype hovercraft (I have always thought I have Christopher Cockerell blood cells) and then walked the dog along the veins of a gigantic cabbage leaf. I later climbed the Brassica ladder to my studio where I worked on an effigy of Jane Austin made from a large slice of Cheddar cheese. A number of Tuaregs emerged from a rerun of Beau Geste and crossed the concrete lily pad beneath my window – for sometime now this has been a meeting point for extraterrestrial amphibians – with some effort I managed to push my bare legs through a giant coffee bean and walked the fort ramparts devising a new type of poetry.


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