Dreammare

Dreams - wonderful things, it's just that I very rarely remember mine. This morning was an exception, as I awoke with surreal visage a-swirling around my noggin.

First, a bit of back story, otherwise what little sense that may be made from my soma-synapse sparkings will be entirely lost. Back in the very early eighties I lived in a shared flat in a communal block known locally as "The Pyramids", an only slightly less strange epithet than the the actual name of the place, "Quartercroft". A thatched door in the midst of Scottish moorland perhaps?

Quartercroft?

Anyway, it was called "The Pyramids" for the obvious reason:

Gorgeous, isn't it?

The place was and probably still is run by a housing association, and was populated by people who were "first timers" in the rented housing market. Most were, like me young early 20s types, but there was a smattering of older divorcees, and a few newly released former inhabitants of state institutions, medications in hand. Despite looking dreadful, it was actually a jolly good laugh, and we all felt like one big gang. There was even a communal bar, and the parties held there were legendary!

So, the point of this drivel was originally The Dream, in which I had got together five of the old Pyramid crew to film a remake of a "Comic Strip Presents...." type comedy drama we had made back in the day. Obviously this film doesn't exist, it was a dream after all. So there I am telling Dek, Kate, Stephanie, and Hayden (one of the ex-patients I mentioned, and a very odd chap) and a load of other familiar faces whooping and hollering in the background, that the remake would be different because this time the script would be entirely improvised, but loosely based on a story whereby we had to spend the £10000 I had just won on a one-armed bandit before we were caught by "two ex-members of The Jam"...."What, Paul Weller is after us?" asks Dek. "No, it's Bruce & Rick" sez me.....

Then I am woken by Molly, The World's Loudest Small Ginger Cat ©. It's a shame we don't have the equivalent of a hard disk recorder in the head, so we can start a dream off from where it left off the night before!

By the way, nobody beats Phill's missus for odd dreams, which usually involve alligators doing the soft shoe shuffle, and jumping through hoops, or somesuch weirdness.
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Some tosser near us decided to start letting off very loud bangers at half past midnight. I hope he or she gets suitable karmic retribution. Earlier in the night our Molly insisted on being let out so she could sit on the decking watching fireworks, but these late night bangs freaked her out. Ban anyone wearing tracky bottoms and/or hoodies from buying the bloody things I say. Like I've said before, only people over 70 should be allowed to buy fireworks, as a concession to the industry!
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