I got up while June was still in bed drawing a plimsoll line on a surf board of sleep. She finally reached the shore and we both watched the figure in the street take off everything that didn’t actually belong to her. June then went to town to collect her armadillo coat - I went down later followed by a long line of ants. We came home as part of a silk route caravan only for June to go out again, wrapped in coloured sheets and with a clock miraculously floating over the pillow case on her head. I heard a crash when it chimed two-o-clock but she appeared sometime later completely unscathed and wearing an upright piano for a skirt. She had gone to the birth place of the mitrochondrial Eve to clean clothes not realising that I had briefly visited Armageddon to make them dirty again.