Today (as I woke tied to a tent pole) I wanted to navigate a new river like a vein in my head. Instead, I painted two thousand portraits of myself, only one of which was smiling. After flying my flag at half mast I went out in the evening to be a false tooth in an open mouth.
I sat early in the day on the divan called the English countryside. Unfortunately I had to come home to wear the urban fur coat. I managed to tie a number of rubber bands together before going out to cast shadows in the bright light.
I woke to a sky full of jelly fish tentacles, some with stinging cells and some with boiled sweets. I couldn’t attempt to find the source of a mighty river so I stayed inside painting pictures with seaside rock. When I went back into our bedroom to find the time I was surprised to see a mannequin wearing my pyjamas.
Terrible weather again. I planned to clean the teeth of the crocodile I call my garden but I had to stay inside the old Arab’s tent for most of the day. The invisible ones played the ancient games while I painted a realistic portrayal of flying camel droppings.
I trudged to town with a sack of biscuits on my back for the eleven o’clock tea break. I soon became the slave of the stickman and placed grey holes across the alphabetical floor according to size and seniority. I came home with a flower pot on my head (hiding my straw ears).
I was as busy as the face of a clown all day, with only short breaks to climb the straw out of the milk shake. After a day digging coal in the larder I was annoyed when the business man in his railway track suit criticised my imaginary guitar playing.
Another big black spider day with multiple arms and legs for disgruntled people to crawl along. I took the Tightrope Express to town, taking care to keep my bat wings hidden under my bobble hat.