6th March 1671

An Orange  mooned morning found me at the edge of a forest, it was there I met a small girl dressed in victorian clothes with the severed ears of a white rabbit pearched upon her head, she was feasting on the charred carcas of an emormous caterpiller and quoting poetry, 'curiouser and bloody curiouser' I thought as I past on by.


5th March 1671

I take wooden hands along the roads on which I walk, sing to birds, welcome clouds, I am 20 feet tall and am aware of every second that my heart beats and the clocks count down, I see the future as a friend and the past as a sunken ship from which I have escaped, No more brain shrunken bad teethed tree fingered oily garden hugging fiends, no more hair curling baton tossing snail eating sink friendly shadow chasing shallow corners, The sun shines on every road


4th March 1671

Taking bearings from the moon I followed angry clouds down to the outskirts of a town where men dressed as badgers drank Gin and shot at occasional greenfly. I asked directions from a small man pearched upon an impossibly high chair who handed me a photo of a rusted metal fox and began to laugh. I am clad in the finest oak and lost to all that is normality, I have nothing to believe in but myself.


3rd March 1671

We seek the future and ignore the past, we throw ourselves upon days which pass like bonfires burning into grass, Our lives are balls of wool chased by cats and still we think to change, I look upon the shoreline and see only that which I have run away from, I hope to stand tall and that my wanderings are not at an end.

2nd March 1671

Arrived at the shore through seamist and ghosts, the trees calling to me like long lost friends. A choir of large wooden puppets sang hymns as I disembarked, A cracked wooden clown handed me a cat, I smiled politely and nodded my head.


1st March 1671

I awoke to a morning filled with butterflies and pollen. If I have learnt anything from life it is this 'To take flight with wingless birds one must first learn the full extent of ones capabilities and ones misgivings' The irony of this has not been lost on me, I am a stranger in a strange land, poor, cold and misunderstood.