I got up very early, as usual unbuttoned in what was largely a necktie morning. I spoke to the bow tie milkman (who moved so fast he was connected to the National Grid) and the bus driver had a cravat so he could integrate properly with the rest of my story; he dropped me off half way and I was then picked up by another bus driven by a cravat wearing a driver in, I thought, a rather foppish way. The old king was in his shepherd’s hut watching over memories instead of sheep; several escaped just after I arrived but we soon caught them again. I stayed a little while watching the eyes in an artillery shell bust communicate with others by flashing in morse code - I could work out the letters but not the punctuation. I came home with a sow’s ear made from a silk purse.