Weekly Diary


It was raining within the egg timer I had placed on the highest shelf in the house. I couldn’t wear my morris man suit so dusted my body in flour and sat in the oven; when I had reached a golden brown I went out to collect the flower petals I had scattered in the picture shop. I came back through several decades of countryside and watched girls in Victorian costumes pick wild flowers. June and I touched gloves and I climbed into the cockpit and started the engines. She wanted to go to a Venusian super store but I wanted to sunbathe on Mars.


June went to town wearing a baroque castle headdress – feathers were beginning to emerge from arrow slits like a dodo chick (who we christened Joan of Arc). I remembered the man made to sit on the top of a hill though the changing seasons and slammed the late summer door as I went out. I wondered if the castle in my dreams was being stormed and touched the ground; I could feel the vibrations caused by a charging beast and lowered the portcullis. Some time later I sat on the top of the hill remembering the man who fell in a stream.


June went out with the tropical flower tribe to visit the concrete island (complete with concrete sharks and pebble dash sailfish sails. I watched them go while balancing an effigy of Dionysus on top of an effigy of Ariadne. A lady with a poodle haircut walked down the street as I surrounded myself with stones – when I rubbed two together they turned on the radio (lips were looking and eyes were talking but I didn’t know this). I was attaching my flippers and tail fin (in readiness for standing on the roof) when June landed unannounced.


June was out yet again. I waited on the bridge for the boarding party – they bought some books which I packed in a clown costume. It was when searching in the box for a pair of extra large shoes that I discovered a feather boa with real eyes attached – it watched me and I watched it. The submarine slowly sank with a man tied to its hull; I stood staring with a differently coloured chameleon hanging from each nipple. I then went out to place my briefcase in a pelican’s beak. The bird didn’t say much and I talked mainly to the eggs it was incubating.


I spent the night in a house covered with newspaper. I left the Guardian door very early and caught the Times bus by the tavern. Admittedly I was a little surprised when a steam engine protruded through the building – I waved to the driver and he waved back with a foreign accent. I saw the man standing behind the waterfall (eventually we will all stand behind waterfalls, safe from the fallout). He and I were well and we told each other clock stories. I came home to find June hiding inside a bronze statue of a wild boar – I never found the sculptor.


I imagined a skull floating in mid air – June slammed the door in the cranium and went off to work; I crawled into the alarm clock and curled up. The largest of the many mouths set into the wall stuck out a very long tongue and I leant on it to put my volcanic ash shoes on (the two lionesses in a painting on the rough hewn stone wall started an African chant). I wore my Buddhist space suit and went for a walk in zero gravity. After crashing in a Sixteenth Century corn field I worked in my haywain studio for the rest of the day. June returned holding a corn dolly.


A chameleon climbed the traffic lights by the bridge as I pushed a model of a Convair Hustler into my back pocket (My jeans were so old they had evolved consciousness and several times they had considered walking away from my legs). I looked down the road as a procession of small people dressed as birds of paradise walked towards the hospital carrying stretchers. I noticed all the people hanging like bats under the bridge but never thought any more of until I heard the tapping on the glass. I went out to water the garden in the middle of the night.


About Gerald Shepherd

Gerald Shepherd is a painter, graphic artist, sculptor, digital/multimedia artist, photographer, writer, curator and arts administrator. He has also been involved with science art, performance art, conceptual art, installations and environments (as well as peripheral creative pursuits such as garden design).
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