June went to the hill top meeting and came back with a glass of water on each eyelid; I reached for my umbrella as she fluttered her eyelashes. After the rain had died down we went out to buy a can of white paint even though there is one already on the kitchen floor with sharks swimming it; I pulled out a swimmer and called her a brush – a cloud entered the open window but left before we could close it again; I tried to mark its flight path on the floor with a pencil line, surprisingly it resembled a figure with wings. June cooked a camp side meal as I painted the flames on the fire (I recollected that I have been waiting my whole life for a person with fires in their eyes, the nearest I have got was meeting a man with smoke from his ears).
June had to go to work to be taught how to talk to dolls; I wasn’t sure if I could feel my hands and walked on water to the shop and back – I spoke to a lady with sailing boat shoes and then crumpled the grey sky into a grey ball. I waited a short while for a leg to kick the ball but only arms emerged from the built-in cupboards. I then worked in my canal boat studio, remembering childhood games as I placed pencil lines into tight formations like advancing soldiers. Most of the soldiers were shaped like landscapes, one of which was covered in snow resembling a celtic cross in a remote churchyard. June came in as the marching band started to play and the cat dancers jumped from ethereal laps – I was surprised when I found out later that the drummer was a girl.
I listened to the wind rattling the picture frame window (I prefer to see a painted landscape when I rise) and then spoke to trees as I entered the kitchen by way of a very long rope; the dog was coiled up on the cat mat and I unknotted her tail ( I think it was a granny knot but it could have been another relation. I only ever knew one grandad: not sure if I will ever meet the other one, perhaps in a battlefield in the sky – however, by then the fighting will have stopped and all territorial disputes would be settled with lawn mowers). June and I had to hang wallpaper as the smoke settled; she stood in a hole while I stood on a ladder – when we reached the door that no one is allowed to open we decided to stop. A sky god knocked on the door and let himself in.
I stepped into a picture book straight from a dream; I ticked the first page illustrating a hedgehog in a gun barrel and a severed hand wrapped in Sellotape and then made myself breakfast on the second. June and I were hanging wallpaper again while the rest of the animal occupants of the house were busy solving lagrangian equations. I spent all afternoon atop a ladder which had earlier expressed an interest in walking on its own, eventually stepping out of the front door to Colditz freedom; as I would have been clinging to its top I was glad when I finally persuaded it not to – recommending instead that it learnt to play the lute (I mentioned the music of John Downland as a good starting point). June and I stood like castles either site of a strait, both watching intently as two mermaids pulled themselves out of the water and started throwing clays pots on a revolving rock.
A return to Indus Valley civilisation normality: June went to work although a bit later than usual, partly because she was carrying the parts of a Crimean War cannon on her back which she promised to reassemble at the foot of the old man’s bed (reputedly he has a moustache which is several yards long and writhes like a snake when bathed in moonlight; I told her to bathe it only in salt water). As is my want I locked myself into my postbox studio to paint letters as they fall like mechanically substituted bison – incidentally, I look forward to an era when all plains are covered in bison again. June came home, not much earlier than usual, riding a water buffalo. I made her a coffee while a man stepped off a flying boat in the back garden.
I got up early, with a semidetached house on my back – I am waiting for planning permission to add a conservatory. June was downstairs nursing a bungalow when I descended with a parachute made from scraps of unused wallpaper (cream and beige stripes). I caught the bus at the Cyclops roundabout (red and white strips) and travelled back in time; each hillside had a smiling face and each modest dwelling had a door like a flying fish (all dreams return as flying fish or swimming birds). The old king and I talked about facial expressions on hillside and I then built a trench in the garden – the Germans are the other side of the fence and we will have a game of football on Christmas Day. I came home inside a beer tankard and immediately pulled a glass of water.
As I got out of bed I imagined painting a set of gleaming white teeth on someone’s buttocks – June was accidentally talking to an American trucker – I imagined him sitting on his smile. Instead of breakfast I painted my face a dark shade of grey and then painted the house doors white. June walked to town with broom stick legs as I settled down to paint the bannister. I was equipped with brushes at the end of my cricket bat arms and a radio chair mimicked my harmonica mouth, I breathed out a tune until June signaled like a recently extinguished light at the end of a tunnel (to communicate properly I had to become a Victorian engineer and build a railway). I saw her again at the railway station alighting from a white horse – our shadows touched even though we were several feet apart.