I had to walk June up the road under ink well skies even though it was supposed to be a traditional somnambulist Sunday. I came back and sat on a closed desk watching flying turtles scurry by. I then had a drink with a couple of friendly frogs before going out in the garden to lay roads – I pasted the imaginary traffic in my organic stamp album. I was tidying this away under my invisible model railway when June came in wearing Hermes’ socks. We went out soon after to buy a box of English beach – June also bought some diamond encrusted biscuits and a bag to put them in.
I walked June up the school desk hill very early again; we carried between us a model of the Kon Tiki to prove that humanity could have crossed the railway bridge to get to work in times past. I looked at my wrist where my watch would have been and saw a smiling face – I gave it a string of pearls and moved into the shadows, a helter-skelter still protruding from my top pocket (I called this pocket “Oasis”). The dog and I swam across one lunar sea after another before I was able to draw smiling faces in my studio. The postman came to the door without any face at all.
I was taken ill in the night; the ethereal person said I had accidentally swallowed a dragon – I pulled out a circular saw and a couple of masonry chisels but couldn’t find anything else. I was unable to eat all day and attached a saxophone to my chest and played a tune every time I rolled over. June came in with a container of molten lava and I rehearsed for a part in the film “Etna Meets Vesuvius” – the sequel. I read the script from my bed which had been conveniently placed on the flight deck of an aircraft carrier. I was just getting off the sleep when the planes returned.
Still ill but I managed to crawl out of the lagoon I was lying in. My best friend, The Creature (who worked in a local office as a filing clerk), and I sat staring out of a window until I began to stare into a computer screen. The sea birds which I had seen in a dream skimming the surface of a slice of toast returned to their nests and I crept downstairs with a fairy tale castle on my shoulders. June was trying on a Wicked Witch costume and made a cocktail from the residues found at the bottom of her collection of Hammer Horror bottles – I pulled an incubating egg from under my T-shirt.
I noticed that the floor was strewn with fragments of moon rock. I picked up the one with a flag in it and threw it over my shoulder for good luck. A fat cat was curled up on a mail order catalogue as I reached up into the armpit of a passing Jolly Green Giant and pulled out a book. I promised myself never to read it until I had seen the film and invented a cruet set that would double as earrings. Pretending to be a medieval prince I waited for my princess to cross the river in a gilded rowing boat before sitting on a pink marshmallow and playing the cymbals.
I was pasted to the wall several feet above the floor so couldn’t leave the house like I normally would on a Friday morning. The dragonfly had decided to watch the television instead of crawling out of its pupal case (the lady in a green suit pulled a collection of papers out of her case but that is another story) so I went up the spiral staircase into a room attached to the top of the house like a horn. I surveyed what I had done in a past existence as a African eland then settled down to work. June came in later covered with fly paper – I pretended to be a tomato plant.
I decided to spend all day in a mock medieval dungeon working on my collection of D.I.Y. torture instruments. Music was playing from a revolving bed of shingle to which a sea sprite’s leg was attached. I picked up an antique vanity case and could hear the sea (although it couldn’t hear me). June went out dressed like an ivy clad wall but I stayed inside a glass dome like a stuffed animal all day working on a promising series of giant eyes which open and close in time to the music. When the fairy dancers arrived we had both been temporarily turned to stone by a passing gorgon.