My Diary: My Mind Is A Wall That Even I Can’t Scale

I settled back to a week of working in the garden,‭ ‬after having spent the night on an ironing board with the hot iron balanced over my chest like a Sword of Damocles‭ ‬-‭ ‬unfortunately Alexander the Great muddled up legends and cut the knot and I spent the rest of the day with a Romanesque arch in the middle of my torso.‭ ‬As the light faded bats issued forth although if I had been writing the story a pale figure would have looked out instead and sighed as a man in white armour flew off in a chariot pulled by swans.‭ ‬June came in tired and we made dinner between us from fireworks that hadn’t gone off and champagne bottles that had rebounded from the ship’s hull unbroken.‭ ‬I didn’t tell her that I now call the garden the Field of the Cloth of Gold and made all hoverflies and solitary bees princes and kings.‭


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