I started the day composed entirely of matchsticks (I didn’t count how many) but managed to walk the dog and light a Fifties Movie Star’s cigarette as she leant over a recently creosoted fence. After a breakfast of six of the Seven Wonders of the World I made a path through over grown grass so that a herd of toy animals could migrate across the garden. I worked in the garden until the rain drops were large enough to descend by parachute and members of the resistance emerged. I then disguised myself as a communist kangaroo and climbed a tree.
I started the day having an earnest conversation with a hole in the ground – after a particularly fiery exchange I threatened to fill it in but went out to mow the lawn instead. Seeing an unknown person walk by holding a picture of a skeleton in a dinner jacket I decided to retire to my studio (although the natives still call it a church). I stayed there until a passing rogue elephant painted the outside of the window with green stripes. I got my ruler out and measured almost an inch between the lines. A young girl called me just after becoming a werewolf.
The dog and I had a pillow fight before racing around the pyramids of Giza in the pouring rain. I had to collect my mail from the mouth of a crocodile and then went our again to find some pebbles for the beach I am building on my temple. I returned to my World War Two Burmese Jungle studio and started to paint using the same colours as the cave paintings at Altamira. I noticed a row of ginger cats perched on my windowsill and promptly choreographed a ballet for mechanical diggers. On the chimney a blackbird spoke to a white ibis.
I read the runic calendar before climbing out of my harvester bed – its long spindly legs meant I hit my head on the ceiling as I did so. I then bathed in a thimble accidentally cast down during the retreat of the Huns in the 5th Century AD. Having dressed myself as an albino werewolf I went out into the sunshine to find some lettuce leaves to eat, the dog who had accompanied me found popcorn and promised to eat quietly when we were watching the horror movie together. I worked in the hay loft all day, painting individual shoots in a variety of colours.
I got up before the alarm clock rang and quickly swallowed it. A glance in the mirror revealed an entirely different person but I didn’t have time to consider this further. I hitched a ride in a battle cruiser on its way to the Battle of Jutland and jumped off just before the rain fell. I talked to the old man about young children and tried on a suit once worn by a garden spider (I never worked out what to do with the extra sleeves). I returned home by pedalo, stopping in town to get some throat lozenges for the turtle who was hoping to become an opera singer.
I had to visit another king’s castle to pour milk for the cat, coming out through a side gate and down the earthworks into a patch of blackberries and rubble. I was watching a snake ride along the horizon when the lady arrived carrying several identities in one bag. I moved the door sculpture (which had begun its existence with an open mouth but now had it firmly closed) and she entered several rooms at the same time. I spent the rest of the day making a a twenty foot long neck tie but at the time of writing I haven’t found anyone tall enough to wear it.
No rain for once and the sun made an iridescent head on the semi-detached torso watching over our route to the playing fields. In my head was a cave in which a smaller version of myself sat listening for the strange scurrying noises coming from below. I was suddenly distracted by a brightly coloured parakeet dressed rather shabbily I thought walking slowly down the road. I walked in the opposite direction where a half size version of the Statue of Liberty was holding a wine glass instead of a torch. The strange noises were getting louder.