I sat among lush vegetation, the derelict houses on each shoulder covered in moss. While looking down I saw tiny faces; they were so small I couldn’t tell if they were looking at me or not. As I rose among long lengths of bindweed I entertained myself with pictures of the dog wearing a tutu; she came out in army fatigues and we made a “Lone Pine Club” pact. Once inside the Nineteen Forties living room I watched the rain write sentences down the window – I corrected the grammar as it did so and then saw a tall tree with small cats instead of leaves.
June went through a Victorian archway – I imagined chimney sweeps and huddled children. Picking up a fairground goldfish I saw the mist rise taking the winged hedgerow with it. After a lay in of milliseconds I became a carpet moth and had a breakfast of tartan. I then followed a loose thread to a Neolithic forest clearing and bent over in the sunshine. I stood up in the afternoon and touched as many ceilings as possible in the time allowed; sitting down again in front of a wet landscape, watching it dry until June came in with a bag full of plastic soldiers.
I heard the Hammer Horror front door slam and switched on the small metal robot with a row of laser cannons in its chest. June had sent a message in Pidgin English and it flew in as I decided to rise out of the ladies shoe I had been sleeping in. I had to walk next door blindfolded and then went out in the garden until the church bells chimed inside the attached case chained to my arm. I then went to town to collect the pills that stopped the dog from changing into a twenty foot high dormouse. I came home followed by a cantankerous litter bin.
I went to London in the Eighteenth Century, spotting Dr Johnson as he disappeared down the Thames with fireworks in his hat (he was followed by a flotilla of little ducks; some of which had RAF roundels on their sides). I saw a house with an eye several stories high – I was sure it was following me as I went by riding on a fish. I met the lady in her cloud top house and piled the pillows against the door. Narcissus followed me home (although every time I looked round he had gone). June had a coal scuttle on her lap instead of the cat.
I got down from the trapeze and vaulted over my cereal bowl before Poppy wanted to run the ten thousand metres. On our return, with felt shapes stuck to our futuristic clothing, a gang member arrived searching for the rabbit – luckily the latter was wearing dark glasses and escaped detection. Later that day I found myself in a landscape painting trying to find the signature; I found a dog being chased by foxes but the name remained secret. When June returned from work and entered the same landscape we had a tea of nails and pieces of string.
I got up extremely early, had a bath in a shallow bowl of milk and then got out of the house through a crack in the door. I had a handful of fish pellets left and I fed the sharks as I ran up the road – the skeletonised remains of imaginary childhood friends running after me. I met the Pan Man in his lair and we checked the garden for flags from the American civil war. I then met some friends in a house made entirely from a fungus where we chatted about falling leaves and rotting vegetation. I came home to lay my memories on the floor.
I had to go out and decided to make my own clothes from Meccano; I clanked to town with June (who was holding a baby gorilla instead of a shopping bag). We then went grocery shopping; I imagined being pressed flat, rolled out like pastry and then pasted on an empty shop window like a poster. Looking in a shop window I watched a hedgehog driving a car over a sleeping policeman – unfortunately he woke up. When we eventually reached base camp I realised I had to climb the mountain again as I had forgotten several pages of my book.