WEIRD WEEKEND

Kate and I are sat in a cupboard. The joint Kate has just rolled slowly becomes an enormous cone (perhaps one foot by one foot) of decaying mossy turf specked throughout with a soft cheese and marijuana. Having attached this (somehow) to an oriental pipe, Kate begins smoking, and draws large slugs of a blue sticky substance through the pipe and into her mouth, leaking down her chin and onto her shirt.

Later, we walk together through a large cemetery built on a hillside, many trees and paths, beautiful sunlight. A cyclist appears at our right at breakneck speed dressed entirely in salmon coloured clothing (including a cape), cuts across our path, and disappears among the gravestones.

'Don't you know who that was?' asks Kate.

'Donny Osmond.'