It looks as though a good night’s sleep hasn’t had any affect on Carmichael’s somewhat stubborn madness. This morning has been a near-exact replica of yesterday: a cretinous nut, sat on a rather ugly but sturdy pumpkin, hunched over and trying to create godknowswhat from a bucket of paste, some yellow paper and a rusty old bicycle wheel. Today, as was the case yesterday, it rained heavily after lunch and Carmichael had to abandon his efforts. Once more, the rain tore Carmichael’s masterpiece to shreds and showered the remains this way and that. Today, however, when Carmichael found said remains embedded in the cracks in the pavement, rather than harbouring them safely in his pocket as he did yesterday, he shoved the dirty sodden mess into his gob and began chewing away like his life depended on it. His face was a poorly executed mixed-media painting of pain and joy. After a few minutes of asylum-destined gnawing coupled with hideous contortions Carmichael spat the contents of his mouth at the side of the tree and scarpered back indoors. Poor Carmichael.
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