Tuesday, March 14, 2006
My Book Of Dreams
Dream 20
In my dream, me and Girlfriend have recently bought a flat above a shop in town to do up and sell on.
We enter through the front door, which leads straight into a sitting room. There is no carpet or furniture, just a disconnected telephone and a Yellow Pages, and now the flat is a small mid-terraced house.
It is late evening and yellow squares of light from the headlamps of passing cars sweep across the walls. A radio plays in the kitchen, which I presume Girlfriend had left switched on from a previous visit.
Beyond the kitchen is a small dining room. It is cold and bare. A woman roughly our age is patiently sitting on an old wooden chair, as if she had been waiting for us to show up. She is angry but calm. Girlfriend doesn’t seem surprised to see her there.
“What do you think you’re doing here?” asks the woman. “This isn’t your house. You shouldn’t be here.”
I remember thinking that the woman was either a slightly disturbed former owner, or a ghost, or - and this is what I suspect - some kind of spooky projection of our guilty consciences about the whole property developer thing.
Dream 21
In my dream I am watching the broadcaster Steve May present the 7:29 sports bulletin from Cheltenham Festival for Radio Four’s Today programme.
He is standing in a narrow hole in the ground - maybe four feet wide in diameter, and sufficiently deep that he can only be seen from the neck upward.
After a short while he introduces two guests to discuss the festival with. It transpires that the guests - the M.D. of the course and a former jockey - are also down the hole, but when they stand up to be interviewed you can only just see the top of their heads.
They carry on like this is perfectly normal.
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In my dream, me and Girlfriend have recently bought a flat above a shop in town to do up and sell on.
We enter through the front door, which leads straight into a sitting room. There is no carpet or furniture, just a disconnected telephone and a Yellow Pages, and now the flat is a small mid-terraced house.
It is late evening and yellow squares of light from the headlamps of passing cars sweep across the walls. A radio plays in the kitchen, which I presume Girlfriend had left switched on from a previous visit.
Beyond the kitchen is a small dining room. It is cold and bare. A woman roughly our age is patiently sitting on an old wooden chair, as if she had been waiting for us to show up. She is angry but calm. Girlfriend doesn’t seem surprised to see her there.
“What do you think you’re doing here?” asks the woman. “This isn’t your house. You shouldn’t be here.”
I remember thinking that the woman was either a slightly disturbed former owner, or a ghost, or - and this is what I suspect - some kind of spooky projection of our guilty consciences about the whole property developer thing.
Dream 21
In my dream I am watching the broadcaster Steve May present the 7:29 sports bulletin from Cheltenham Festival for Radio Four’s Today programme.
He is standing in a narrow hole in the ground - maybe four feet wide in diameter, and sufficiently deep that he can only be seen from the neck upward.
After a short while he introduces two guests to discuss the festival with. It transpires that the guests - the M.D. of the course and a former jockey - are also down the hole, but when they stand up to be interviewed you can only just see the top of their heads.
They carry on like this is perfectly normal.
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