I am writing on a yellow pad, all that I have just dreamed.
I am at a bank. I am trying to make a withdrawal. The woman behind the counter is incompetent and can’t communicate. She refuses to give me my money. I shout and create a scene. There’s a queue behind me. She closes the bank and leaves. I follow her home, at a distance, I am full of anger.
A woman speaks to me. She points out my appearance. I am filthy. My hands are covered with green, chemical residue. I tell her that I experiment with chemicals at home.
I catch my reflection in a window. My hair is long and matted. I look like one of Haysi Fantayzee dragged through a hedge. I rearrange it as best I can, it actually looks quite fashionable, I decide.
I return to the bank. At the back is a room I can access with my card. As the door slides open, I realise the door is one of two concentric circular walls, rotating until the gaps line up to allow entry. Like a primitive lock.
I step into the circular room. At the centre, bounded by two smaller semi circular walls, is a circular table. The top is a screen. A Japanese woman appears on it and asks how she can help. I check my balance. I’m overdrawn by -£3.44.
This annoys me. I wanted money to get drunk.
Others join me in the bank. The light changes to a uv blue. Someone is chasing me. I become a megalomaniac.
I am outside again, at a train station.
A guy is doing parkour and tells me to jump. I fly. I feel like I’m cheating. I fly low, simulating skateboard movements across the landscape
We go to get a train.
I write many dreams on a yellow pad.
I am at an airfield. I am with a family. The daughter, about 20, loves me, and I her. We keep it secret as we don’t think her family would approve of the age gap.
We walk along the grass, hand in hand. There’s a gap in the fence, and we run to lay down in a wooded, shaded area. We are followed by a young boy. We move on, and I grab him and tell him to go a different way.
We walk into a water mill. Searching for her, I wade through muddy, shallow water, with spiky anemones and crabs moving in it.
I grab a wire fence, and make my way back to the mill.
I am in a landrover. Dr who is making it speed up as I go around tight corners. I only slow down as I approach a single lane hump back bridge, with a slow moving Morris Minor trying to overtake another car coming towards me.
I talk to Rob Hancock about this, as we walk through a field of dismantled toilets and chairs. He’s waiting for a new colleague who is joining our team. This new guy isn’t very well, or what I was expecting. He doesn’t fit the team.
Myself and Ed Henley rescue a German Shepherd guide dog, locked into glass walled public toilets attached to Dr Who’s secret hideout.
The Dr is unhappy. We have damaged his wall. His enemies can get in. We go inside. There are two huge doors wedged open with sleepers. Every entrance is wedged open.
The Dr does not like this. He waves his hands, and they slam shut. A glass lift gently lands, granting access to a hotel beyond. I am careful to mind the steps as I walk down to reception.
The country is under attack. I mark with red the wooden carvings of faces that are my calendar. I’m looking for the US flag. It’s tiny. I enlarge it. I feel strangely patriotic and start to sing the British national anthem. I follow the queen through a large wood panelled room, she’s my mother, and it seems strange not to be singing “God bless my gracious mum”.
We reach a window.
On a rooftop is a bunker. This is where the queen lands. We step outside. There are huge flying cranes, of the construction variety.
A small lost child appears. We have another child in our group so I invite her to join us. I explain that I too am lost, thousands of miles from home.
I open doors for the queen. We defeat the English version of Rudolf Hess who tried to overthrow the government.
I talk to my colleagues, saying how no one will know what we have achieved, if only there was a writer in our group to tell the story.
I see a synth panel on an outside, stone wall. It sings to me like a choir of angels.
I cry at the beauty of this singing machine.
I’m walking to Kazakhstan with a group of people. We are pulling an old green goddess fire engine. We move at walking pace. I keep trying to ask Siri how long it will take, and how far away Kazakhstan is. It’s too noisy and Siri can’t hear me. I’m very frustrated. I know Kazakhstan is the size of Western Europe, and that it will take a very long time to get there at walking pace.
Loitering at the airport. Kids and families. The smell of duty free perfume. Walls full of tax free poisons to slowly kill you. Nationalist tat. Books Richard Madely would recommend. I’ve had too much coffee. Sprayed myself with blue water. Powered down my iPad. No service on my phone. Isolated, we peruse the items for sale, trapped for another twenty minutes before boarding begins.
No natural light. This is a timeless place. It is all times at once. It is a valve, sucking people in, then pumping them onto a plane. The heartbeat of travel, or the peristalsis of a national digestive system.
I am not a terrorist. My shoes set off an alarm. Xrayed, they are fine. Good and friendly security staff here. Doing a great job in a very busy environment.
” We make time fly at Exeter Airport” reads the writing on the wall. We Make is the branding for the bar. All bars make time fly. And speed you towards your grave.
No free wifi. This is a bad thing. My guess is an old world business model. Based on getting you to spend money, not spreading the message by word of mouth, not aiming for repeat business. Small minded.
Flight delayed until quarter past seven. 25 mins late. 25 mins longer to resist the lure of the bar.
I am in a car park. I look in a mirror. The reflection isn’t me. I’m terrified.
A small Chinese baby falls through a hole in the ground. I look through but can’t see her. The hole closes up, like the concrete is healing.
I am in a Georgian room. The French windows won’t close properly. I’m afraid someone will break in. Rain leaks onto my bed by the window.
Other people are there. An older woman is talking to me, advising me of the importance of this time. I am lucid dreaming. These other people are lucid dreamers too. They are here to help me. A young girl has a patch or scaly reptilian skin on her arm, in the shape of a cross.
I am in a large grey room. An evil baddy is trying to kidnap a woman. For some reason, he has a PowerPoint presentation open, and Tommy Courth is trying to fix his computer.
I go over. The screen is badly damaged. I tell him to book a Genius Bar appointment. He’s worried about his data.
Magnum PI arrives and we start to improvise some theatre, I discuss monkeys drinking tea. Then Magnum produces a banana with a USB stick embedded in it. He takes the hard drive from the baddy’s computer, and plugs it into the banana. He has the baddies plans. He know it is finished. I fall into a square hole in the grass. And I awake.