It had rained during the night (water tricked down our dinner plate roof). I looked at my reflection in a razor blade and then painted on my summertime beard. June went to work, cellophane wrapped like a cheap greetings card. I noticed that my card had been signed by a gap year hippopotamus and then wallowed in its words like mud. In the other room the cat was playing a piano in a syncopated style; I used the musical notes as hair and tried to make a pony tail of sound before walking the dog in a sequence of puddles. We came home with a Moog synthesizer over our heads raining sounds, although I went into my studio in sepulchral silence. I worked like a blanket on bare ground until June came in wearing steam powered clothes and we left the railway station house as a two carriage train.
Gerald's Rather Strange Diary 