Another day away from home - we had to trek across the plastic land where plastic people lay with arms outstretched in a perpetual embrace - we then played with the baby and ate miscellaneous parts from a model kit. I dreamed of raising the dead while television screens duelled at a multitude of false dawns. I was worried by the amount of weight Poppy has gained.
An in and out day like the tale of the person who lives in a matchbox. I pulled a parachute from under my hat and pretended to make a bad landing. I juggled thin air and then went home with a colony of meerkats in my trousers - after going down the pit in a hot air balloon I went out and in again with my propellor spinning fast.
It was the last day at work for Megan the young bullock who dreamed of being a head waiter in a five star restaurant. We embraced as the lights went out and a canal boat full of refugees from the future pushed its way through the concrete floor we had prepared for a returning Second World War bomber - it had four and a half engines.
My cold got worse as I walked to the high land (with the great expanse of smiling sky) with a portion of English hedgerow balanced on my head. Later, I raced in my snail yacht following a spittle of cloud and attempting to speak my name as many times a second as possible. When I got home I shortened my Christian name to gate - which I slowly opened.
I took my weekly trip on the paper boy boat just as the dawn coughed and turned over (she disregarded the sound of the hunting horn in the troubadour distance). I came back in arrow time holding onto paper chains and bags within bags within bags. I walked in the skittle and ball space as the baby girl fed the ducks and my wife told me that the fire in the hidden box had gone out.
I pulled a picture of myself off the wall and challenged it to a duel (knowing I would lose!). I eventually replaced the picture with a landscape which I walked into to pick some flowers. The flowers were put in a vase on top of a young girl’s head - I pulled out my cross bow but, not reading the script, accidentally shot myself in the foot. I hopped home.
I sailed alone in my match stick boat under the scratch marked sky. I parked it in a tree and slipped on a coat of apples and bananas for comfort. I drunk tea with the kindly old sea god before swimming up the waterfall. The waterfall became an anaconda and I became a stick thrown by a hirsute member of a race of giants who ruled the Earth before the rabbit kings.