My Diary

I saw two faces in the window as I arranged some dead flowers in my shot gun vase.  June was busy taking the curtains down and replacing them with hair extensions; as I haven’t got any hair to extend I walked to town. I had a diplodocus length shopping list but luckily for me it went extinct before I got there.

I spent the afternoon curled up in an snail shell before someone prised me out with an old fashioned quill pen – I signed my name in daffodil blood.

My Diary

The soul mate of Peter Panic is depressed.  He is fed up of his days trapped in the model village with the frog spawn pond (with an air hole for passing whales) and hill called Prometheus.  He would sometimes like to pull out a ticket from his back pocket which said anywhere.

“That’s a lie”, said the hard tin chair, “he wants to be agoraphobic and stay indoors and paint all the time!”.

Poppy had a bath today.

My Diary

I woke as a dormouse and decided to live in a tent like Valentino.  I burrowed out a network of holes and filled them with chewed up beards; all white and wispy.  I went underground for a brief spell and came back up as Diomedes.  It was too light to see Mars.

In an invisible room I entered by accident there were loudspeakers hidden in the walls; from these, voices would issue asking everyone to leave.  I left eventually.

My Diary

In a great storm, skyscrapers got blown together like twigs; where they touched they grew together and made a complex network of rooms which, if you have the power of flight, you can explore at your leisure.  I spent the day flitting between these rooms and their merged buildings – occasionally pursued by the above ground underground trains that travel straight up and down – never horizontally.

While stopping to get my breath I invented a story which didn’t have a beginning or an end.

My Diary

In the ant hill today; in which, if you had the training, you can travel on ant eater tongue escalators.  I have found this to be too dangerous myself.

I was approached by a puppet wearing glasses.   I consider this to be a normal state for puppets but I was surprised when she showed everyone a stuffed fish in her spectacle case.  Everyone else was surprised when she insisted to me that she always came alone, even when with others.

There was at least three families of brown bears in the room; only two of which engaged in conversation.

My Diary

Busy day inside the skin of a beaver.  This is a useful disguise if you wish to walk down a street without attracting attention.

I spent the evening counting crisp packets (sometimes in silence, sometimes in a the hall of dead horseman).  When I finally satisfied myself that I got the right amount I wrote it down on a piece of paper; then I tore it up.

Walking home a goat pushed its head out of a post box.  I didn’t have any letters to feed it so it sung me an old Beatles song –  I didn’t know which.

My Diary

I disappeared early this morning.  I couldn’t find myself anywhere.  Then I appeared again: first as a cloud, then as a rock: painted red and capable of being folded up.  I am thinking of patenting the latter.

NB. I am also considering inventing anchors to throw down from clouds so that they can be stationed decorously in convenient spots above the garden.