I was hoping to lay like a piece of rope in the garden but June wanted to stretch me out between the doorstep and the town. I finally got home with knots in my hair where snake eyes used to be. I had just lassoed a Roman copy of an ancient Greek sculpture when she returned like Nike and wanted to catch a jet plane to a local restaurant. We ate out meal below an engine pod as the dancers jumped like blue cows. I came home counting werewolves in cardboard boxes and shuffled the keys in my pocket as a precaution before we reentered the house.
June went back to work while I hung on to a giant barley sugar twist watching the remnants of my bath water disappear down a slit in the maverick monster’s side. Using an old fashioned telephone as ear muffs I strode out alongside a wolf pack as it searched for well documented anomalies in the Earth’s magnetic field. I kept the paper crumpled as June resurfaced from the depths trapped inside a table top fridge. I gingerly opened the door and put in a large wedge of cheese – as well as the mummified remains of an ancient Assyrian blue tit god.
I got up in the middle of the night to have a bath; herbivorous dinosaurs were grazing just outside the arrow slit window. After pushing a snake tongue down the overflow I wrote “All my best friends are Neanderthals” in the condensation on my designer sunglasses. When the day finally woke, June had already metamorphosed into a scots pine and I had taken several hundred steps down the side of a mountain. I spent a happy morning recording extinct pterosaur song and then climbed up the mountain again – meeting at the top my best friend Neanderthal.
June and I skirted the craters on the moon – she was intent on keeping the remains of last night’s dinner in the confines of her top pocket and I wrestled in my trousers for a comb. I walked part of the way with a trombone wrapped around my head and came back followed by the skeletonised remains of a well known chamber orchestra. Once back in the wardrobe I call home I grabbed the dog and we went out to look for signs that a steam train went through the hole in the hedge last night. The first person I met had a cuckoo clock for a head.
I had to get up early, removing the ostrich who had pushed its head under the pillow, I dropped the dog out of the escape hatch and absailed down to a pavement in the front line at the battle of El Alamein. I fought myself into the dirty green countryside where pockets of snow were still visible – I climbed Everest on one of these before talking about King Kong with the Great Ape God – I then returned home tucked in the train of a woman whose hat touched the roof like a birthday cake baked in the shape of the Tower of Babel. I thought to myself in a multitude of languages.
June and I followed a porcupine up the road; each spine had a small umbrella attached. I watched them wobble as it walked while the rain ran down my neck like the life saving serum in a sci-fi adventure – one drop stops the transformation into a beast that will live forever. As the sky unzipped to reveal a navel I ran at high speed and then jumped over the roof of a modestly furnished terraced house. I later took the wolf dog for a walk along a pirate plank; we each returned with a large boulder on our heads. I danced with a grandfather clock as June came in late.
June went out with a Roman matron (I knew this because the stuffed cockatoo on her shoulder wore a band of laurel leaves). The dog and I watched passively as a hookah pile several hundred metres long rose and then abruptly descended again. I looked down and picked up several partially decomposed sheets of paper – each with a design for a cubist corn dolly on it. I then made a smiling face out of building bricks and looked down again. The toy salesman pushed an arm through a cloud and we shook hands like Polynesian dancers wearing grass skirts.