Stupid out of place messed-up man, arriving confused, late for work on a Friday when everyone else is going home. “Hoo har Mr Man! You have got it all smack-to-bumhead in your little brain!”

“It’s okay, I will see you all on Monday. I have lots of things to do, such as filing my very long toenails into sharp points.”

Weekend spent banging head on desk until pass out, weird dreamy dream of cows on stilts, mocking him like waa-waa-macadam, “Hoo har you muddle bum! Get out! Get out of our field before we call the police!”

“Nee naw nee naw” came the police in an ambulance. “Oh no, mistakey on way to worky, went to wrong place, but we arrest you anyway, take you to the CrazyHospital, where the LoonyDoctor will imprison your brain in a chemical jail. Oh, but you can still break free, just like we did, if you eat the bars on the windows, they are made of liquorice. Please leave the field, or you will be forced to walk on stilts and go “moo!”.”

And then the horse arrived, with sheep riding on back, bang bang bang with big long stick. “Dance, mother-frogger!”

And then the hang-gliding hamsters arrived. “We have come for your teeth.”

But then, wakey wakey from dreamy dream, dark office. Oh no, where are the Hidey Men? Are they under the desks? Are they in the stationary cupboard? Or are they just in the mind?

Oh,

Oh no.

Is that them I hear shuffling in the corner?

Paranoid worry make sicky feeling in tummy, make giddy feeling in head, make walking feel strange or altogether pointless.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

And then fade into murky grey collage of bland daydreamy imbetweeny nothingness, and then downwards into semi-conscious self-inflicted insomnia-induced hallucinatory imagery bouncey around bing-bong in head, confusey thinky-thoughts and overwhelminess. “Who are the Wavy Arms?”

And then by Monday, early-worky Normal Man arrive at desk, smart suit, facing forwards all the time, never smiley-chatty-face, always speaky-straight worky-thoughts, and coffee at exact times of day. “I am a machine. Feed me my coffee fuel.”

But then, oh no, forced to look downwards – who is that under my desk, playing with my feet?

“Shhh, I’ve been here all weekend. You mustn’t tell them I’m here!”

“What?”

“Meet me by the lake at half past twelve.”

And then smiley day of dancey-walky-legs and happy-talky-face.

Until the men come, takey away to big roomy place with walls and windows and everything.

And then all blurry-head and people talky-face – “Who are you?”

And try to answer all sensible saney-words (“I would like a cup of tea please, thank you very much”), but in the end, unable to resisty urge, and mouth churny outy flappy-talk – “I invented the moon!”

And then next morning, normal worky-people arrive to visit, all frowny-faced and shakey-heads – “We always thought he was strange. You know, he lives alone with cats, and never drinks the juice from cow udders like we do.”