This was a strange day, which I started squat inside a highly decorated sarcophagus made for a mummified cheese sandwich. June had gone to work hidden within a bouquet of flowers carried by a complete stranger; he put her down by a bag of old coins and went off to catch a steam train. I climbed down from the tangled remains of a now cold air balloon stuck in a rain forest tree house and attempted to teach religion to a flock of bird eating spiders. Meanwhile the dog, who had fallen in love with a particularly appealing blob of gravy on the side of her bowl stood still as a line of blind mice made an exclamation mark on the silent floor. I proclaimed my knife and fork as the next King and Queen of England and a portrait of Amelia Earhart took off and flew out of the room.