A mysterious car has appeared over the road. Just a normal small car (I think; it could be a pus-powered Rolls Royce hatchback for all I know), but painted yellow with black stripes and with the Transformers logo on the hubcaps and the bonnet. The funny thing is, round the corner near Jimmy’s shop there is an A-Team van. Perhaps I am not the only fictional character who lives on this street. The sign outside Jimmy’s shop reads JIMMY,S. Punctuation-a-go-go.
For tea last night I made Luxury Pie. You could tell it was Luxury Pie because I wrote Luxury Pie on the top in pastry. I filled it with hagfish and Werther’s Originals, durians, hen’s teeth and kelp. The gravy was made of lube. We ate that pie up as though it were a little book, and it made our bellies sing like boys.
Yesterday I tidied my Snout’s music room and lined up all the instruments – two keyboards, four violins, five guitars, a ukulele, a flute and a kazoo. I want some instruments of my own, I think, like a Cat Piano or a Bone Trumpet. I have my own secret music that I hear when the house is still, translucent melodies, musical fetches, half-dreamt ghosts of song. And I’m learning to play Psycho Killer on the ukulele.