June had to work. I accompanied her up the spider silk road as rumour had it Saint Patrick was about with his snakes. The plastic hatted miller stood with a gaping mouth at the gaping entrance of the mill - a sign on the door offered coins for the empty mouths of Ancient Greeks. I later stood in the garden like a tall tree while all the small shrubs busied themselves about the place (I had long given up the idea of there being a little copse where everyone held hands). While waiting for the snow people to fall I sat in my shuttle cock studio throwing paper doilies into the air. Once the plastic hatted crocodile had closed its mouth June and I went out, our heads replaced by alarm clocks (hers went off before mine). I was hoping for a house made from cheese but had to make do with an acorn bungalow.