A Much Earlier Weekly Diary


An unusual day as I was the middle course in a five course meal for the first time. I walked in a circle as I paraded with a team of seaside donkeys. I have now forgotten their names but I remember they were fluent in at least five languages. I came home in time to design a garden for one of the moons of Saturn.



My breakfast plate was a building sight as I pushed my spoon among second hand clothes and the fallen pillars of an ancient Greek temple. I had to rush to town to make a neolithic enclosure in the middle of a symphony orchestra, pushing aside the musicians as they attempted to tune up. When I attempted to erect the first round house I heard the opening bars of Walton’s first symphony issuing from my conch shell earrings.



I licked the dawn and put it in a stamp album; inviting Bugsy Malone to appear on the cover. My life is a showboat and I had to tie the rigging to the mast before I could go out to trespass in my own garden. Once among the girl tresses I kept my eyes open for voices. I could hear magical children sliding down the cloud sides as I remembered lifting every sheet of metal on the railway line to try and find lizards and snakes.



After a morning sleeping on an outstretched birds wing I went to the paper bag palace to roll around in bran sacks; emerging with one eye attached to a periscope I looked over the dentist’s wall and saw the smiling brickwork. During the dream time I had to tie string on a variety of wooden boxes – all of which contained a surprise.



I managed to see the fabled white horses today, after years of trying. Like an early explorer I saw big brown birds fly high over the forest – with the trees looking like oversized inverted beards – and I saw the bundles of stones left over from the giants battle. The sailing boats were as small as confetti and I imagined marrying the place. There would be a simple ceremony.



I was depressed as the procession of stuffed animals went by. I hitched a lift on the back of a mastodon and rode to the glass houses of town. The building was red hot by the time I got there and I burst into the room wearing a military uniform and holding a set of masks in my briefcase. The sentries kept guard on top of the crenellated walls as I walked home with burning coals in my pocket.



I skipped across the stones set on the plastic river bed (we had a large sink but no bathroom when I was a child) to the village long house. Once there I unwrapped myself, disentangled the laurel leaves from the live electric cables and went in search of the windows the old ladies looked out of. I went home carrying a bust of Voltaire.


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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