Coffee, Cricket, America

I am in a cafe in America. Everyone is smoking. They are surprised when I order coffee instead of beer. They are all a bit drunk. I pay for my friends coffees, $49. I can see them sat outside, around the back of the cafe. I go to join them, dancing briefly with a waitress in her 50’s, as she reminisces about 70’s drugs and Starlight Express.

I walk around the building. It is huge, like a cathedral. Americans play cricket, badly, on the grass outside. Their balls are too big.

I can’t get to my friends table, it is fenced off. Now children are sat there. I walk around the back, and hitch a ride on an old tricycle, to see if there’s a back entrance. The guy pedalling the bike explains that it’s a long way round, and will take ages. I’m angry that I’m missing my coffee. I take over the pedalling. It is hard, the pedals are missing, just slippy metal stumps, and short stubby handles to steer by.

Slowly I gain control, and steer us faster along roads, through the surf of the sea, and eventually back to the high street. Now the trike is a horse drawn carriage. Balloons are floating, tied to it. I have come out of my shell, my friends comment on how changed I am, and even the locals notice this.

I am with friends in America. We go for a coffee.



Tommy Steele Podcast and the Simon Pegg Movie

I am with Frost and Pegg. We are at the end of a movie we’ve made. The cried don’t get the ending. On the way out, they are given a comic. The ending is in there. Joke adverts and notices contain alternative endings for the characters in the film.

I am in the Posada with my boss. I decided to get drunk. Ori plays a strategy/FPS game on her laptop. She’s a lot further on than I am. It involved penetrating into a labyrinth of genetically enhanced dinosaurs.

I go to the toilet. It is busy.
Returning to our table, I see other friends have joined us. Jen sits with a happy rat in her lap, it’s back leg pedalling as she scratches his belly.

Tommy Steele is in the pub. He asks if he knows me from his performing days. I mention ironing bacon, and making music from meat and fruit, he is interested, but doesn’t know me. I ask about his career. Too many things to mention. He is trying to scrounge the money for another drink. I explain what a podcast is. I ask if I can follow him for an evening, recording his recollections, to produce a podcasts sponsored by advertising. He will get some money. He likes the idea.

I feel drunk and leave. The service was terrible, I’ve only had two pints of Guinness.

Outside, I don’t know where I am. I walk up a narrow stone path to Bewdley House. Behind me disabled children push themselves uphill in wheelchairs. One is just a moss covered Star Wars Stormtrooper helmet, pushed by a friend.

At the front of the old house, I see that there’s a tree inside, bursting through the bay windows on three levels, the walls themselves are collapsed in places.

I lay on the grass to photograph the tree. The viewfinder shows me a kaleidoscope image if choirs singing and people doing art.

I go inside the building. It is an arts centre. I slide through a tiny gap an find myself in the remains of a Christmas market. It is crowded. I comment on the fancy dress two guys are wearing. They are a combination of samurai and ninja, one is wearing a pink tutu and matching feather boa also.

We walk outside, along a dark, wet, backstreet. We talk about how it’s like a Simon Pegg movie, where the characters walk along Tarantino style, but singing their own music, until they run out of road related songs, as the street is really long.

We decide to go to the Firehouse, rather than Arena. The guys fight over this, ripping each other’s clothes and knocking each other out. They are covered in blood.

A police car arrives and I run for it. I doubt they will believe the truth. The car follows and skids, crashing into a wall behind me. A class display case suspended outside an old electrical shop falls onto me.

I sit inside and wait. I’ve seen this before, in a Simon Pegg movie. Inside the display case I’m effectively invisible to the police.

They find me but don’t know what to do. I eat sweets, drink a tiny bottle of fairy liquid and wait.


Born Into Oncoming Traffic

I stand with my mother at the top of the stairs. They are in a chute, leading straight into a main road. I slide onto the street, and across it. Over a bridge, and into a haulage yard.

I am helping Tom Veals with a delivery. He rides ahead on a skateboard that becomes a motorcycle. I sit in the cab of a self driving lorry. Tom falls from his board, dragged along by it. The vehicle I’m in reverts to manual control. I cannot drive.

I steer the vehicle round a bend , I find the horn and warn others to get out of my way. There are roadworks, I mount the pavement and people jump out of my way. Finally I find the brake.

I get out if the vehicle. The police arrive. I am in shock. A man comes out of the house to see if I have his parcel. Mr Heinz. I search for it and give it to him. He doesn’t care about the crash.

The police interview me, trying to blame the accident on Tom. The female officer lets slip that he is dead, the male tries to skip over this. I look in the back of their van. Mangled wreckage that no one could survive.

I am with Andrew Mitchell. We leave his mothers house. He feels a failure, like he never somehow seems to earn enough. Books call out to him to go with him. He selects one. I explain that he must carry everything.

As we leave, I give him the keys, explaining that locking the door behind him will, kind if, earth the bad luck that he’s had.

We walk along black painted corridors. The doors do not like us. Wind blows us towards a restaurant, psychedelic cats flock around string, dogs become sheep and merge into the flock.


Mating Ritual of the Potato-Spider

I’m in bed. I look at the floor. To giant potato spiders are mating. The larger female headbutts the male. This is how they reproduce.

They scuttle into my jacket on the floor. I’m scared to move. Snowy, my old dead dog comes in and grabs one of them. I open the front door and he runs out into the snow with it, tail wagging.

I am staying with my girlfriend. I’m sick, and worried I’ve made her place smell of sick. She’s very understanding.

Drown the Mother, Drown the Brothers

I am a child. My mother is single, and we visit a man she has met through a dating website. He lives with his brother. I don’t like them. The brother brings a man home, and it turns nasty, the brothers torture him, playing a yes/no game where he always answers wrongly. Then eventually they kill him. They get a sexual thrill from this.

After a few more victims, I decide I have to leave. I throw darts and pens at the brothers. I run to the train station. They follow me, with my mother, carrying her luggage.

To reach the station we must cross a bridge over a river. One brother walks the wrong side of the fence, and I push him in the deep river. He can’t swim. His brother jumps in, dragging my mother with him. All three struggle in the water, my mother weighed down by coins in her coat. The brothers fight underwater, they all drown.

I am free. I fly across the town, through walls, above a stage, joking about a drum solo played from the air with bullets of diarrhoea.


The Ruin of York

I am in a b&b in York. The minster is a ruin, burnt out and overgrown with weeds. I remember climbing up into the ruin in a previous dream.

The area is being redeveloped. I lie on a chaise long outside, looking at the wall of a derelict house. I have three t shirts with me, patterned with different faces. A friend joins me, and we sing a song about passing wind through your exoskeleton if you are an insect. I try to record it in my YouRock guitar, but it doesn’t have enough memory.

I woman I like is playing oboe in the b&b. I can’t remember how long I’ve been here. It must be time to leave soon.


The Widow’s Cloak

At the house of a deceased friend. His wife offers me coffee, and asks me how much she can sell his magical robes for. I tell that she should keep them. They are imbued with his magical power. She is sad. She needs the money.

I try to explain that it wouldn’t fit anyone else, having been made for him bespoke.

She asks me to try it on.

I struggle with the sleeves a little. When it’s finally on I see that it is made of two materials. Looking in a mirror I see that my left side is covered with a tweed cloak, but my righthand side is black, with a golden yellow glow. This glow spreads to the right hand side of my face. The magic is too powerful for me. I feel intoxicated with it. I struggle to take it off. The widow helps me. She sees that I’m in shock, and rests the cloak over me. I tell her to remove it. The power is like an addiction.