Jimstrumental time. Vuvuzela poised to blow. James made that bit, Ben.

Waking with a start, once when I flew with a boy. Ready breakfast bowl.

Flamingos yammer, "the gargadillo is loose". Birthday cake blowtorch.

Bad ammonia. Must be the asparagus. Wish there was a cream.

Boredom is creeping into the kitchen, hoping I'm for the taking.

Those shotgun blues fanned, no skip can dampen the rage. The animals know.

He wriggles again, seemingly wanting to speak: coconut shy man.

Gnomes humping tree stumps. There'll be Fraggles in my bed. Wish Santa stayed home.

Wails from the toilet. Bleeping mummy's gone offline. Weaponised wet-wipes.

Apple core cast off, unsettled by some textures (travelling naked).