Weekly Diary


I got up some time between early and late and went downstairs with a pronounced sitcom face. June was a fly on the wall documentary and we watched television screens shaped like armchairs over a breakfast of exclamation marks: ostriches participating in Prime Minister’s Question Time was switched over half way to scenes of water pouring from a jug on top of a mountain and filling a glass at the mouth of a sea. After making a spiral out of plastic question marks we went to lunch. June reminisced about her time as an artificial leg on a polymathical centipede and I remembered that thirty eight years ago I said “goodnight, swatted the light and turned off the fly”. When I said goodnight again a rabbit was heard jumping on top of a sandwich maker.


The start of the working week which was represented as a sky full of small coloured circles; fancifully I imagined each circle containing the essence of a departed life – if I was a post-it note stuck to the door of a refrigerator I would say “I wish I was still living in the Sixties!”. June left for work inside a briefcase as I emerged from my Lockheed Starfighter cocoon with small oases in my driftwood eye sockets. The dog and I went out for a walk, each carrying part of the Royal Albert Hall and on our return I played the drums for a band of extinct mammals – I think the group was called the Heavy Skeletons and our first gig was at the bottom of the ocean several miles east of the Marianas Trench. June came back later with an unknown ocean in her hat.


June and I went out for the day; this was proclaimed by a giant mouth that appeared in an otherwise empty wall – I thought it would make a nice aquarium and was just saying this to a pretty black and white dress that issued from the letter box when a pair of huge concrete boots walked by (June thought she saw a pair of concrete legs being lowered into the sea near Weymouth but couldn’t be sure). We looked at rolls of wallpaper: June in an attempt to find lines that could be measured to a fraction of a micrometer and me in the hope that a maidservant to Cleopatra might emerge holding a small turtle and a first aid box once used by Florence Nightingale in the Antarctic. We had a meal in a cave before coming home to find a signpost which was found before on the savannah of Argentina.


June went back to work followed by three and a half men riding camels – I had to get up early to wait for the mountain to arrive. As I couldn’t take the dog out for a walk she decided to learn to touch type on a grand piano. I talked to giant reptiles who, surprisingly, had knocked on the back door with tickets to see The Phantom Of The Opera; I explained I hadn’t seen the show but lived it most of the time. The man who had invented an upside down boat (for a sea that flows on the ceiling – just above plastic kits of a Junkers 88 and Lockheed Hercules complete with Blood hound missile) knocked on the door just before dinner and just after the man selling yesterday’s newspapers had parked his car on a fly agaric fungus that had pushed up through the concrete drive.


I got up with a balsa wood glider replacing the features of my face. June was preparing for lunar orbit and we both expressed concern for the people with turtle heads before we took off. We landed where crumpled faces congregate and looked for silhouettes hidden among the brick walls and buffer stops of a fashion terminus (I call it the void although I did look for a bright green hat to go with my red beard). June bought shopping bags to put shopping bags in while I waited on the top floor for the lift to come down. We came home by dodo express and I immediately parted the waters for an old man with a beard to walk through – the turtle heads were taking part in a fashion shoot for a well known glossy magazine.


I got up in an unbrushed hair morning and felt the top of my head. I fed the mythical animals to the sound of geriatric choristers while June got ready for her quantum mechanical meal. Having caught a bus at the urban armpit I travelled down arm and met the old man for a second hand breakfast – I then went out into his family heirloom garden and turned some soil. I noticed the child had changed into a digital copy and his mother a piece of Eighteenth Century furniture (complete with cabriole legs). I gave my child goodbyes and came home via a black and white spotted mail coach. June was waiting to cling to a tree like ivy and I walked the dog before she went to town as a crucifix on the head of a stag. Finding myself alone I went upstairs to paint a head on a guillotine blade.


I designed a pineapple house while in a semiconscious state and lived in it for a time in a tropical dream. June was living in a different house and got up before me; she was riding a mechanical raccoon around our termite mound living room when I came down to find a breakfast bowl to sit in (after filling it half way with milk – as I did so I placed words in a safe place ready to hand them out next time the tree children drop in). Having decided I had the RMS Queen Mary as a shadow I steamed out into the garden; coming back almost straight away with a paint brush and a ladder – my shadow was by now a floating hotel and a film slide which unfortunately had turned pink. I climbed the ladder and viewed the paint brush from a great height.


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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