I had been turned into plastic during the night and every time I sat down I stuck to the seat. To counteract this I hung as much as possible from the florescent lights in an ancient Sumarian reading room where I discussed the coming of Plato and Aristotle with unidentified flying objects. I identified them later as semi-organic space bats constructed from the remnants of Sixties tenement blocks complete with damp patches and fallen plaster.
A stressful day, partly clinging to the rigging of an old sailing ship and partly in the orchestra pit rehearing a concerto for photocopier and orchestra. When I finally felt confident with my musicianship I went overboard. I was washed up on the shore of a strange land where everything went in reverse. I walked backwards to the garden gate (which shut in front of me) and got out of bed feeling very tired.
I had an enjoyable time in the pancake garden tending the lemon trees and moving historical moments around like pot plants. My wife and I tied a cord round the middle of the day while we discussed the sunshine. When the sun went down she wallpapered the inside of an oven and I found an off-licence to model the latest trends in wine bottle clothing – luckily I have the figure for it.
I had a lie in this morning (only for a few minutes – honest!). I got up when the cat made a path in the bed clothes for a column of miniature anti-war veterans to march through. I had breakfast in the trenches and then went to see the launch of a Viking longboat dressed in a choice selection of cardboard boxes. I came home with my hair on fire and wearing someone else’s clothes.
I measured the dullness of the day (precisely with scientific instruments) as I slowly put on a pair of six guns. I rode a pale steed into the town on the very outskirts of western civilisation. I wrote a message on the mirror in the middle of the afternoon and for the second day running I came home in another person’s clothes – luckily this time there were the appropriate slits for my falcon wings.
I opened my door and saw large boulders between the step and the gate. I jumped between each and took a red kite to the historical document I punctuate at odd times. I was saddened but not surprised to discover that I was a full stop on a paragraph that had lasted almost ten years. Rather than write a new story I decided to return to an old one – where I played the Boot that Puss jumped in.
It was very early in the morning when I set out for the land where fairy stories are still enacted – to emphasise this, the toy soldiers (made form cotton reels and needles) were paraded on the white breakfast table. After a brief discussion about red and yellow crab apples I returned to take my place on the corporate mantelpiece. While looking down from the old crows’ nest I pondered my past and my future – wondering which one came first.