My Diary: My Hand Pinned To My Chest With A Semaphore Railway Signal

After a besom broom breakfast I strapped on my electricity pylon legs and marched like an old lady’s eye sore along the horizon straddling the Hampshire and Wiltshire borders.‭ ‬June had walked to work some time before with one hand stuck in a Women’s Institute home made jam jar and the other up the left nostril of a Pacific hagfish.‭ ‬I disembarked from a Venusian packet boat on the sulphurous shores of an island composed entirely of worn string vests.‭ ‬The island god was sat in clean underwear ready to go out:‭ ‬he had to travel along a route of recycled milk bottle tops while I worked in his garden planting small people who had escaped from obscure mythological stories when their guards were metamorphosing into wild west gunfighters quick drawing flower bouquets from their holsters.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s