stuart is trying to write something. jon and i are trying to cook the same half of pizza at the same time. someone slides down my foot and breaks my red shoe.

i was out meeting jane in a tower block and i showed her my new red coat. she liked it but she was still laughing anyway. i couldn't go out with her because i had to meet my mother in a bar.

mum teaching me how to abseil and travel the animal tracks in the jungle. high wires and she's flying. she looks so cool.

trying to get somewhere before the explosion. homer simpson is the one who brought the ultimate evil from the fifth element into being. he's been playing the wrong board game. i'm walking around a familiar dream town where all the windy roads are like labyrinth corners with cottages. i leave someone and can't find him again. we have three minutes to get away from ground zero before the detonation.

sunday:

i was sitting on a cliff-top indian jewelled garden looking down at a normal road when i saw my kick-boxing instructor walking around in the dark, trying to find his car. so i started barking at him.

monday:

futuristic invasive society controlled by one man. we all wear collars like battle royale but they're like mood rings. if it goes one colour, he's sweet and nice and encouraging. if it goes another colour, he starts to hit you, and smack you, and kill you. so they're like mood rings - if you are fitting in and having the same thoughts as everyone else (i think we're at a gig, so "i love this"), then it's a good colour. the bad colour and the smacking and the killing comes when you don't agree with what the majority think. no one was allowed to dislike a band that most people liked. no one could like a band if hardly anyone had heard of them. my world was clearly thrown into chaos. can't remember how the dream ends. i suspect there may have been kissing. there's also a vague intimation of cattle prods. who knows...

today:

trying to get somewhere and describe the difference between poetry and punk-rock outside a church. i borrow jim's computer to try and do this, and i spill mini-disks that he was building a lego house with all over his keyboard. i run away to hide in shame.

we're moving a whole poem in the car. dad is driving. i am holding the duck. the duck goes for my neck even though i am trying to be nice to it so i wrestle it off and its beak breaks. i am mortified. dad says "show me" so i give it and he eats it right in front of the duck. the beak has the same texture as frazzles. the duck just stares at dad.

so we go to park and get a ticket to let us in to the huge car park, only we get stuck in the zone reserved for loading and unloading of penguins. this doesn't make sense. the duck is no substitute for a penguin so we end up reversing out. we get home and i fill the bath with water and there are little bugs everywhere. no sign of the duck.

about trying to find an open mic night and always getting moved to different ends of the pub but i kept asking questions so felt comfortable that i wouldn't miss it. but my friends got bored and kept coming and going, then eventually i left with them half way through my lunch, (big sunday roast in yorkshire pudding with gravy) and when i came back later it had been tidied away. and i thought "i was eating that" but then thought that on reflection i was quite full anyway. i have no idea whether we missed the open mic night or made it or what.

there were lots of car journeys everywhere and moving house and all sorts of things - haircuts - laughter - but the only thing i can recall with any certainty is that Jim lived in a dark attic and had pictures of Mae West and Jean Arthur on his wall.