I am chasing a tortoise shell cat called Vienna. It causes lots of accidents.
A small child asks what happened. I say I can’t tell as it will spoil the story it if he wants to watch it when he’s older.
A kitchen. There is a noise in the cupboard. The light flickers on and off. I decide not to investigate the cause of the noise.
I am back at my old home at Seabrook Road. Part of the neighbours garden has been built over. I am Trying to get home. Can’t remember if I live in Birmingham, Wolverhampton or Exeter. I follow a road to dead end by a river. There is a workshop there with draft excluders like the dragon from never ending story, they are alive. I recognise Bristol Byzantine architecture as we move through the outskirts of Birmingham. I remember I live in Exeter. I’ve been going the wrong way!!
I am in a circus or film set.There is a large tank with a huge crocodile in it. Everyone is afraid. Crocodile Dundee tells us that the croc is a big softy. He is right. Nothing to be afraid of.
A sad Ethiopian king in the basement of a huge building with his entourage. He beats and abuses them, including me. Another person and I distract him so the injured can escape. He sets us all free, and wants to be left alone in his sadness. I am worried about him and offer to stay. He says he will come with us, but we are free.
We ascend stairs that change into a spiral of chains we need to clamber up, at the top, a professor is reeling the chains in, making the ascent easier. The chains are secured with a broken coat hanger on a bent nail, with unclear instructions on how to keep it in place. 8° not 98° is what it says.
I am at a power station with an MP and a large group of people. I have dreamt of this place before,it has an Ageing Device made of crystal underneath it. Inside the power station are glass cases with living animals in, rodents mostly. These cases are arranged in a square. Inside the square scientists are meeting, discussing the destruction of evidence, to hide their misdeeds. The MP goes in and tells them that kids were getting depressed and suicidal after taking layered animal hormones produced there. They look unconfortable. Some leave. I take a seat. I look up and I am outside an old lady’s place with some tea. I go inside and play with a ginger cat.
I am on a train. The carriage is massive, as wide as a football pitch, and we are playing a mixture of Death Race 2000 and Rollerball. It is absolute carnage.
My Mum uses my Hoover and breaks it, I try to explain to her how it works. I am sorting out old scrapsof paper with jokes and cartoons on. Helping to clean the house. Some things are so knackered even clean they look crap. An old CRT TV. Is it Hipster retro, or just poor? I am living in a windmill at Haldon Belvedere, John Wayne is my friend and hides my shoes, afraid that I will wander off in a depressed state. I fall asleep and wake up perplexed; I am smooth between the legs, having the genitals of an action man.
The government are running an Alien hoax, it is a cover up for planting trackers in peoples brains.
I am running away from unseen monster. There’s a lady with kids, we all go back to my home. Eventually everyone leaves. I hear a dog whimpering outside. There is a giant body of woman, burnt as if by spontaneous combustion and giant, blind dog in back garden. The dog is huge, blind, old and dying.
Floating around my home. The windows are black, blocked from outside. A room is in the wrong place. I am looking into another world. There are other me’s from parallel worlds. They have had similar experiences. We discover that shouting together we can shrink the monster outside and scare it away.
The other me return home. I am watching tv and talking with my family. I can see that they are all actors, playing their part. I challenge the grandad with this. He explains that this is so. I realise I am dreaming but play along anyway.
I think they are here to put a sensor or censor in my head. I escape.
A square in Bath. The houses are all burnt out. In the middle, the remains of a funeral home and cemetery, decimated. I think. I have been here before. It didn’t feel right then. In the burnt out funeral home is the remains of an apparatus to age and kill people. I am aware that these have been found all over the world. Someone is trying to rebuild them. They need knowledge from this dream to do so. I remember the monster at the start of the dream. He didn’t exist. Just radioactive glowing streams of plasma being drawn to and emanating from an ancient temple.
I am castrating myself and then cook and eat my genitals. Tastes like chicken until I remember what it is and then I am sick and disgusted at my cannibalism.
Brian the snail from the magic roundabout is cloning himself.
American civil war re-enactors march past my house with drums in the dark. The drums are lit up, they are on fire inside.
An overgrown allotment. I try to cut through a poly tunnel. My way is blocked by undergrowth and bags of rubbish. An old man is trying to clear it up. A homeless crackhead has been following me. We all chat and then I leave. The crack head follows me. He wants to stay at my place. I say no. Eventually I have his fingers bent back and my foot on his head to emphasise the message.
Chicken cooked and partly eaten. Old friends who I now find boring. Trying to get the attention of a barman. He ignores me. All I want is to order some food.
At a meeting with my boss and Captain Kirk and Scotty. It appears lots of people avoid these meetings as the leaders are crap. I joke that its like one of our meetings at work.
Wandering along a hospital corridor, divided into many rooms, it slows me down going through each door. There are people, equipment and chairs in my way.
My boss and myself look for a cocktail machine. We are approached by a primitive Chinese sex robot. I decide to try it to see what it is like. I read the instructions. It has a large penis that can be peeled open like a banana revealing a vagina like orifice inside. It is very strange. I remind myself to write a short story about a virus spread by sex robots.
One of my colleagues is asking me about getting to Boston. I tell him there’s nothing in Lincolnshire. I have just got off a coach with Jen and Stef who were off to north London.
Two boys carry an extremely long curtain rail and ask to borrow my radio. I say that I need it.
A church. My dad is arguing that babies aren’t born gay. My gay friends disagree.
George Formby is on a raft leading a singalong outside despite the fact I just entered a pub.
Queuing with Ori for a bargain at Poundland. They have grand stairs and no clothes in my size. There’s a huge piano, and I play along with the background music. It opens and I lose Chee in the crowds, I am trying to get to the CDs but instead find myself outside, at the top of Market Street in Manchester. I am carrying a pink stick and a black stick, which I use to push through the crowds. Eventually I tire of them and throw them randomly behind me.
I am explaining to someone how time travellers come back to Manchesters’ Piccadilly to practice shoot outs. They can see each other and the people who were there. The people can’t see them.
I am in Bert Weedon‘s basement. It is damp. The sun rises through a huge one piece window. The view is breathtaking. The sea is out side and I am underneath some kind of pier, supported by classical stone columns. Bert can’t understand why I’m so impressed. It is dripping with water but I’d love to live there.
A man is helping me take Berts’ computer home to fix. He is dodgy and has some ulterior motive. Dave Angel he looks like. He has a sports car with not much space. I leave the engine alone but mess about with the rest when he’s not looking.
I am walking to meet some people. I see a Delorean floating in the road. It’s driver is talking to another guy in a 2 seater sports car parked behind him. They are going to the same meeting. I get a lift in the sports car, wishing I was flying in the Delorean. We have to cut through some narrow lanes. The driver is Russell Howard. He says he hopes the meeting will stir up emotions. It is the second time I’ve heard that phrase.