Tag: dreams

So perlmonger fitted the new security beam things yesterday, and then when I was in the bath I heard the warning chime go. I called him and got no reply, so I assumed it was him.

But when I went downstairs, they’d taken the laptops and the Wii and the remotes and the cameras and all the DVDs, I ran down the end of the garden and saw one of them running through the field, so I photographed her.

Then I went to find the village bobby* at Angela’s house – they’ve moved to the other side of the road. They had no glass in their front door, and were having some sort of lunch party with the guests sat on rows of chairs like a lecture. David took me into the kitchen and told me not to make a fuss, and that the insurance would pay. The policewoman wasn’t there.

* That’s a giveaway, isn’t it?

€7.45 for a Venetian choc ice. God knows where some sort of reception area.

They are among us, and ruling us.

They have huge leathery wings, and look a bit like the chaps in Arthur C Clarke’s Childhood’s End, a book of which I’m very fond. These lords are, however, less benevolent.

We knew they were coming, of course, as we were walking across the horned bridge by the Watershed, and I remarked on how many jets there seemed to be in the sky. We assumed that there was some sort of delay at Heathrow and that they were stacking the planes. But when we got home, we put the news on; all the power was off, but the television was working. And we were informed. And then the milk was delivered.

They don’t allow us to have anything sharp unless we’re supervised. And I’m working in a sort of industrial growing house – like a farm, but under cover, and I’ve lost my dibbery thing. It’s shiny with a red plastic handle – if you find it, could you give it back, because I’m frightened of them.

Very odd dream, really.

I spent what seemed like most of last night dreaming about writing HTML e-mails (oh the shame) about orange Le Creuset cookware. I have no idea why.

however, it beat the previous night’s dreams, which involved going down an alley I’d never noticed before and finding a lovely cobbled square, three sides of which contained a vintage clothing shop run by the WI. “Oh, I love wearing vintage clothes”, I cried, in the dream – which is odd, because I’ve never done that in my life.

what was even odder was to find myself in a *very* small lavatory cubicle with a lowish door, set in front of a refectory-style table, with Princess Anne sitting opposite. She seemed to want to be my friend, but I rebuffed her.

analyse *that*.