As June followed a piece of spaghetti up the story book hill I laid paving slabs round the perimeter of a giant footprint that appeared in the garden overnight. After painting a line around the imaginary body I covered it up with a fishing net and waited for the ships to come in. I stood to attention as the rest of the family leant against the side of a hill watching the carnival go by. We all followed like aboriginal hunters to the fairground watering hole as the big beasts came down to drink – unfortunately the Nordic goddess hurt her back coming down the slide.
June went off to work just as I remembered to pull the parachute rip chord. Eating my breakfast from my bowler hat I raced to town to grab a Siberian coniferous forest before another asteroid fell; I couldn’t find any pine trees but found a number of cabbage plants and a small bramble patch with a multitude of Brer Rabbit clones hidden within it. I pulled out my stethoscope and checked to see if a telephone kiosk was still breathing, followed by a litter bin (who turned out to be a tourist) and then a space rocket filling up for its return trip home.
I pulled myself out of my can of sardines, pulled the curtains across a huge face peering in the window and then went to find someone to interrogate. I found an invertebrate who refused to talk and then took a dog bowl out for a walk – only some time later remembering the dog who I found reading a glossy magazine. I had to take several thimbles of water to the Saharan desert before placing a table and chairs on the part of my head once inhabited by hair. June came in as I was trying to get a fruit salad off the roof.
I thought church bells were chiming at the start of the day but it turned out to be a warning buoy washed up on the doorstep – I didn’t mind this too much but the ocean liner in the front garden may be problematic. I had an errand in the early Cretaceous period so flew back in time with an oversize comb between my teeth; the runway was patched up and partly underwater but I landed without a mishap – not counting the hermit crabs taking up residence in each nostril. Later, before I could climb the stairs I had to plant small soldiers in very straight lines.
I woke in the middle of the night to find a fly the size of a Cocker Spaniel perched on my forehead – it was pouring with rain outside. The way to the kitchen was comprised of giant letters (I swung from the T like a gibbon). When I got there June was sat in a mud pool reading a book with the help of a garden trowel; I went out in the pouring rain and walked round the edge of the pool like a reptilian sentry in an alternative universe – coming in soaking wet with an ordnance survey map pressed around a giant egg which was on the point of hatching.
I took off from the aircraft carrier disguised as a tropical island very early; I flew across nondescript back gardens to a small house in the middle of a jungle. Here I spoke to a man surrounded by parrots – each of the birds took it in turn to speak for him (I left a message on an answer phone). I came home by skipping between fly agaric toadstools, shaking hands with a number of fairies as I did so. I spent the afternoon in a monument waiting for the clock hands to wave. June sat on a neolithic flint tool and I sat the refrigerator from Apollo 9.
The square alarm sounded when I was expecting the oval one. However I got up and jumped into the tar pit to administer the foul smelling white liquid before the rain drew fingers down the back wall. June went to town wearing a spider’s web instead of a hat; I collected her later to see how many flies she caught. We let out the wild beasts caught in her shopping bags and then went out again to find an igloo to wallpaper. I shook the hand of the man hanging from our roof and then spent the rest of the day indoors putting plastic gloves in cardboard boxes.