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Skyberries and Voidmelons or Voidberries and Skymelons

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Kicking King, Horseman, Pier, Balloons

Friday night involved a failed attempt at the creation of Mexican Hot Chocolate Snickerdoodles.

I sipped a gingerbread soya latte at the station and jumped on a train to visit Bath and Marios. It was Saturday.

I visited the Library of unwritten books, but preferred the unwritten books in Portsmouth I saw and wrote about on August 15th 2004. I wonder if they are all still unwritten, or if some have now been written. Apparently the idea was taken from Richard Brautigan's The Abortion.

Marios gave me a book: The Kicking King in Letterland. I vaguely remember Letterland from my childhood, or something similar anyway. People shaped like letters.

I saw the Fifth Horseman, half horse, half man, with dolls' legs forming a mohican and toy cars forming a spine, and mobile phones and hamburgers and other bits of junk on the horseman's body, like the horseman had arisen from everything that was being destroyed in the apocalypse. It was at the Victoria Art Gallery in Bath, and created by Deborah van der Beek, in an exhibition called Out of old Mythologies.

Marios bought a kite, but I bought Groucho Marx spectacles, having concluded that perhaps I needed them for work. An episode of Eerie, Indiana involved an eye nurse who would brainwash people, so they became like zombies. The only cure seemed to be invoking laughter by wearing the Groucho Marx spectacles. My co-workers do not show any signs of becoming zombies, but I keep them at hand, just in case.

We watched Last Night, which I have seen a few times before, but always enjoy. The world is ending and it's the last night, and the film shows how various characters spend their last night on Earth.

The sun had already set and there were only a few pink smudges left in the sky, but the rain had stopped, so it seemed like it was time for a walk. An abandoned rusty box with a plug attached to it, lying on the ground, near to a river, caught my eye, but I couldn't work out what it was for. We walked upwards, through the mud, past dogs pawing at my skirt, and stopped and looked out over the lights of Bath. Tiny white moths appeared in the darkness, fluttering as we walked.

The sun shone on Sunday, so it was time for the beach. We arrived in Weston-super-Mare to find the sea was far out, too far to walk to through the mud, but there was a sea-filled pool to paddle in. From the beach side of the pool, it looked as if people were walking on the water. I ate a coconut ice-cream, blew pirate bubbles, and photographed the pier, which has been rebuilt after a fire, but has yet to re-open. Marios battled with flying ants and escaped, ice-cream intact. Photos on Flickr: Weston-super-Mare.

Back on the train, looking out the window at the sky, which looked beautiful and pink, and as the train went through Bristol, became full of hot air balloons.

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I think I've read In Watermelon Sugar. How about you?

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