I got up in an unshaven morning, stroked my luminous beard and then went out in the surging slipstream of a passing plesiosaur. A woman was stood at the bus stop with one column of an Indian temple balanced on her forehead. The column was carved to resemble a girl with bare legs below and a body and head of a fish above - I imagined thought bubbles emerging from the fish’s mouth, slowly rising and then popping with a scream in the glare of the street lights. I had covered my fish tail legs with red brick trousers as I waited for the smoking chimney bus to arrive. I found it was populated by shop manikins and would have been deathly quiet if one of them hadn’t had a radio blaring. I met the old king in the great hall under a multi-bulbed chandelier - unfortunately there was a power cut.