23rd April 1671

I sleep these days in abstract, short bursts that carry me down country lanes and leave me tangled on barbed wire fences. A sad old yellow moon casts shadows on the road ahead and does much to unsettle cats. I think of home and the miles and days between us and know I shall never return.

22nd April 1671

At 4:15 I was awoken by bird song and shadows and planets racing by. Sometimes life greets you by handshakes and welcomes and sometimes by indifference. I dress myself regardless and prepare for rain. In an old fallen shelter I light fires, to surround myself with distance and sleepwalk through the night. 

21st April 1671

They say 'beware the strangers of kindness and think of things unthought' but we believe in moments above such whimsy and visit wrath upon only those who stand in our way. If we are such doomed accomplices it is only through circumstance and loss of way. If these days are important it is only because we are alive. And if the world comes to us untethered and baiting us to fight? We shall make like crows and hide amongst trees. 

20th April 1671

Some days I feel my life is a river running into waterfalls and crashing to rocks below, but today it is a shrubbery gathered around a sullen pond clammy with frogspawn. I saw Van Gough wrestle Goya in a clearing and Churchill ordering sparrows from his lawn and knew what day it would be and why. 'We are all waiting for trouble 'Churchill shouted ' and trouble shall eat us in the end' I doubt his motivation for such thoughts. 

19th April 1671

Smokestacks spew animal ghosts into clouds which run off giddy and confused. I spy old Mr death out on the road ahead, he walks in broad daylight, tipping his hat and grinning at friends yet to come, all pinstriped and chaotic. A journey such as mine will bring death to my heels but I climb a tree regardless. 

18th April 1671

A blanket of fog swept over hillsides and nestled on the road ahead, giving me time to wipe crows from my shoulders and think on journeys past. By noon the sun had painted far off villages with soft light and longing and fearing only beetles and stilt men I gathered my dwarves and carpets and continued on. 

17th April 1671

My eyes awake to honey coated skylines and peppermint clowns teaching animals to sing, there is an awareness in me now, a feeling of place and time holding me to the spot like rags on  barbed wire fences. I count faces in clouds and smile when spiders try to steal my legs. I have seen such things which amount to nothing and envied youth which crumbles to dust. A man on stilts asks me to follow him and I think of nothing better to do. 

16th April 1671

It is a strong wind which blows needle children onto freshly mown grass and drifts confused starlings from trees, and for once I am at loss to stand tall in the face of nature's melancholy rage so I bide my time in refuge and sing songs from someone else's youth. The sweet calm of evening brought broken badgers and wooden legged emus who rummaged in foliage for chestnuts and slovenly luckless worms. The warm smell of woodchip filled the air as I  stuffed my backpack with forest foods and badgers, I stumble ever forward as regret aims arrows at my back.

15th April 1671

I cant wake myself from bad dreams or untie myself from trouble, fountains throw coins as if to swamp credence but I am burdened by sorrow, I am alone as twilight falls onto empty fields leaving me to walk as a soft limbed statue into future times of faded tales that no one will want to tell. They say the coffin is a home to everyone eventually and I know now that I shall treat it as a friend.

14th April 1671

Our paths diverge and twist and run off to god knows where leaving us in places no one wants to be, Here we meet Jasper, grey faced and tired, a man without shoes or common sense but given the job of tying lightbulbs to trees. Jasper is a man of wisdom but also great stupidity, He tells us the names of mountains and points to the places where ghosts hide in snow, he then falls inconveniently off a cliff leaving only embers and undrinkable wine.

13th April 1671

Today we walk with violins,chattering on roots and leaky radiators and pianos waiting to fall. This landscape resembles candle wicks and dashes of Morse code.  The table has left us for a packet of parsnip seeds and the promise of pizzicato lessons after the 4th of Never. I think about kicking the chair, but my toes are attached, so I don't. We lie together, imagining geese instead of stones beneath our heads. Tomorrow is a hermit crab,stalking the horizon so I roll leaves into my ears for protection and hope it's crumpets for breakfast instead of slugs.

12 April 1671

Dear Diary we are lost, we souls reflected in each other and given to sly remarks are no more in the habit of finding firm ground than seeking that which drifts above it, we have no forwardings save the roads on which we walk and no purpose save the absence of which it dictates, we are unusual in our shortcomings and profound in our own disdane. We are skyline drifters and this world is undecided of our repute.

11th April 1671

The soft air of spring sends clouds scuttling to faraway scarecrows to leave the roads
clear from rain, Threadbare stairwells rise at roadsides and beckon us to climb, but
 I have seen the futility of such journeys and the vacuums that lie beneath. We stop
at noon to watch an army of silent movie stars march into battle, bowler hatted,
awkward and likely to slip on banana peels.

10th April 1671

Today we met a roadside minstrel who treated us to ballads of his misspent youth which mostly involved an unfortunate incident with a horse cart and a lady of ill repute. My time is a grandfather clock ridden with woodworm and faulty of springs.

9th April 1671

There is a dearth of logic with each forward step I make and yet the illogical has always huddled closely as a friend. We eat a cooked dinner of field mice in a graveyard of stone statues which leer at us through candle lit fog, I fall asleep on grass well trodden by foxes and awake to a sky blanketed by spectres of days yet to come

8th April 1671

The thickets seep trouble unto empty country roads like crows in sullen skies, I fear reflections and shadows and walk the moss covered byways with growing unease, Tree creatures pad the path behind us, all whispers and distance, hung heavy with rags. By sunset we reach shelter by a broken wall and sing ourselves to slumber.

7th April 1671

A long night of visitations and grandfather clocks tapping on windows, the musty first breath of morning smelt of dampening walls and fur coats long hidden in closets.On the far side of a green mist that reminded us of Tuesdays we met the ghost of Charlie Chaplin who politely asked me for a cigarette, I told him I did'nt smoke and handed him a cigar.

6th April 1671

The broad sweep of daylight sends chilled night dwellers into hastily clawed holes to leave we three alone, out on open plains I spend time throwing a rescued leg bone to my chair who returns it without irony.

5th April 1671

A soft misted morning fresh with promise gave way to blue skies filled with hot air balloons and strange victorian gents riding awkward machines. My sleepy fellow travellers sprung to life as an army of hares marched past, medalled, proud and reeking of shoe polish. This town is prone to war and foolishness and holds no interest to one such as me. At the edge of town I see distant daylight stars crowding the road ahead and know I must move on.

4th April 1671

We drank wine today in a dank and smoke filled tavern, the rafters hung heavy with
the corpses of banditry and innocent alike. The afternoons drunkenness brought
 thoughts of melancholy and regret and groups of straw hatted peasants who leered

and shone candles at me through cracked grimy windows.