In the morning I went out to the place where the past and future meet. I primed the clock and poured water in the Giant’s boots. The hills wore a string vest, through which vegetation pushed. I thought about ducks asleep under my pushchair. All the trees were silver and gold – some wore wedding rings on their branches.
The afternoon was spent in the cornfield that had grown on the rug. I expect men on magic carpets to come with scythes to cut it – this is what happened in the past. I stood on the rug and I was a hundred feet tall.
I am still hopeful of waking up as a badger. My wife would be a red squirrel.
After a late night as a Royal Navy Reservist – I acted as the sail while HMS Belfast trained her guns on my crows nest – I had to get up early to go out with June. She dressed as a telephone kiosk and I was a post box. It wasn’t long before someone posted themselves in me.
We had a look round the Garden of Eden before Adam and Eve moved in. I thought the tree ferns looked like blocks of flats. I laughed as the lift got stuck, stopping only when I realised I was the one trapped in it.
In the evening I got a flock of finches out of the cash machine and put a ball in the dog’s mouth.
I jumped out of a bed like a monk. I found my habit and practised it. It was a pleasant morning and I followed the fog into the garden – this is where I keep my submarine. I exchanged pleasantries with the polar bears that live by the ice sculpture and then set to work adding wheels to the cardboard boxes that collect by the War of American Independence fence.
I drilled holes in the silhouettes of our next door neighbours, this is where I pour the oil, and had a bath in a cup of tea. I originally made the garden on the deck of a record player so often when I come out in the morning all the plants have changed their positions. This morning the needle had slipped.
The evening was spent as David in the Lion’s Den.
I dripped from the ceiling like wet paint and slowly run out into the garden. The flamingos had little men inside them; peering out of portholes in their sides. I rowed myself out to the railway line and back – this is where I lifted hot pieces of tin in my youth – I then raised the mast and formed a rain forest. I spent the rest of the morning hanging around.
Inside the marquee the mannequins were starting to move, I hid behind the beer stacks and practised my animal calls. I had reached the mating call of the three toed sloth before I came home.
Once home I turned into a chair again and someone sat on me.
The invisible beings pulled back the curtain but luckily all that could be seen of me was streaks of light. I had a sword which would blast skywards like the a rocket. I kept an old banger in my pocket as a reserve. It was a bright day, with all my companions wearing loud clothes – I dressed as a mouse as usual.
I had my first evening home for some time. However I spent it alone as my wife had changed herself into a boat and had sailed off the edge of the map we had previously pinned to the wall. I watched cricket between the arrow slits of the old castle.
I made a sign of weariness and the wall yawned.
I was a clown that emerges from a chrysalis for part of the day. Then after tying my hot air balloon to a passing flock of geese I became the “Protector of Parts” for another. This is a serious post, which can be appreciated by the amount of ivy growing up it.
I went up the voices that behave like steps and came to a place where the circles and cylinders play. I rotated with abandon but did not hear any more messages. I waved a handkerchief to surrender and the outlaws all gave themselves up.
It was a busy evening but I split into three and managed to cope with the wild beasts that race by the river.
This is the last day I would be able to sit on a skyscraper. This was after I made a young lady out of soap. Although I had a faint recollection of wearing a veil when I married myself, I don’t think there is any difference in my condition.
I spent some time hanging from lianas – these were ringing wet after all the recent rain. Once I finally got down (after a detour round the bridge that chimes) I was able to unfold the flag which I usually keep with my memories of past times.
The evening was spent in a wine bottle like a message.
Another day in the fairground – going up some things and down (too quickly) others. The music, which emanates from recently appeared toadstools, was quite cheerful but I felt like singing dirges. All the old stones that collect by the road side would sing the chorus.
One unusual event was finding a werewolf in the road. I brought it home in case it got run over. I pretended to be a vampire so I didn’t get bit. However I must admit I was a little concerned when I later bit the postman.
I ended the day as I started it. Going up and down! I was a bell rope that people could pull.
A slither day, but quite productive for a mere scale on a snake’s underbelly. I made intricate marks in the sand; these represented my life before I was born – this was even before the chalk lines became roads. The villages looked smaller then but I still felt a certain nostalgia for the hillside that necessitated stripping down to your vest to climb up it.
After making marks on the ground I climbed up a rope – through a small hole in the glass eye – to a reasonable resting place on a floating land hidden by clouds. Strange animals could only be detected by the marks they made on the ground.
Incidentally, cloud hidden lands were a frequent destination of mine when I first learnt to fly.
I started the day in a plastic bag and then, after a brief spell as a jellyfish, I became one of the Equestrians of Rome – I didn’t have enough money to become a Senator.
I spent some time in the middle of a combine harvester – I examined it’s inner workings, which reminded me of a Babylonian tomb. I headed west to see the gardens but all I saw was a hole in the ground.
My alter ego suffered from indigestion (for the third day in a row) so he built an igloo in the garden and invited round a husky.