My Diary

June went to work, earlier than usual, while I was still in bed and enjoying a telepathic conversation with a woolly mammoth trapped in an ice sheet in Eastern Siberia. I had to go out in the elephant cold, almost coming back before I left (in a comic strip the death of the superhero would fuel his own birth; although it didn’t as I always put the comic down) – in reality I walked to town carrying my shopping and came home carrying none. I talked to sailors who stood like masts on giant turtles to circumnavigate the globe, inventing the game of oceanic golf as they did so – hard to find the balls and then hard to find the holes to putt them in. In response I invented a new art form by covering my paintings with curtains – June would subsequently dare guests to open them but no one ever did.

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