I went out very early, as ancient mariners have to. On the way back to my yo-yo home I discussed the life style of early hominids with the anthropomorphic dawn and carried a model of the empire state building (complete with fully animated King Kong) in a supermarket shopping bag. I came through the door with my pre-birth exam results and a wrist watch that gives the time in fourteen different languages at once.
I was in a Wild West town for most of the day, smiling at gunslinging baboons and hoovering the “half a horse town” saloon. I came home quickly, holding a message from Mount Olympus for an exiled Juno. After signalling to Road Runner I went out again to lie down in a vegetable lasagne as the candles were blown out one by one.
I felt today was a bit like a sandwich with a semi-sentient filling of Marmite in the middle. I paced around the bridge of an underwater helicopter for some of the time – having made a pleasant start winding lengths of tape round the mummified remains of ancient heroes. The evening was rather disjointed and I came home as a paper handkerchief – which my wife used immediately to blow her nose.
A heron caught in the first shards of dawn kind of day. I rolled about in a tin can until it was picked up by several smiling goblins. They had parched pyramids for hats – each with something like a furry sea urchin on the end. On the way home I was certain I saw several loaves of bread riding horses on the horizon.
The day split open like a nut hitting a rock, I climbed out of the space capsule to meet a prohibition gangster. I then made wings from cricket bats and flew to town. On arriving at the big spider’s house I was surprised to see David the pirate walking his own plank. He laughed as he showed the soap girl his dirty photos. The plank became a lolly stick and the baby ate pizza and spaghetti shapes.
I held on tightly to the umbilical cord of multidimensional time as I skipped to town, the playground characters gradually disintegrating as the jigsaw pieces fell apart. When I walked into the Nordic banqueting hall I could just about detect the remnants of yesterday’s conversation. As always in this sort of situation I pulled out an old rag doll and blew flowers into it.
I went out early to see the old bearded godman who holds up the world while Hercules looks for magical oranges. There was only a short gap – like a modest sandwich filling – between migration flights. Later while tending the lunar llamas on the revolving space station I resolved to find a new reptile skin to grow into. The only one I could find was a python masquerading as a street lamp.