Thursday, January 14, 2010


Have you ever thought of keeping a dream diary? Or thought to analyse your dreams?

I haven't. Although sometimes I do wonder what inspired my subconscious to put such weird things into my dream.

Some of my dreams would I'm sure have me locked up as certifiably bonkers, take last Tuesday night's for example....

I was in our kitchen running the tap and sand was coming out, water with a bit of sand in it, so that the water was discoloured at first but then the amount of sand increased until there was sand and no water. While this was going on Amanda Holden (don't ask me why she was in my dream, she's not on e of my favourite people and I think I last saw her on TV a couple of days ago in an ad) was arguing with a guy (I got the feeling (in my dream) that he was also off TV but I didn't recognise him - in my dream) they were arguing and not doing anything constructive to help with the sand situation. Moments later John Prescott (aka 2 Jags, MP for Hull) appeared in a black jacket and skirt (a straight, knee length skirt) black tights and sensible shoes - I must have been lying on the floor as my view was definitely of his shoes up to his knees. I told him that he looked like a woman wearing a skirt like that (a kilt he could maybe have got away with, but not a straight knee length number) and he disappeared in a huff.

And then last night's;

I was walking along a corridor and then up some stairs, I met my mother in law who was wearing a stunning, backless, olive green fitted dress with a peplum (she's always glamourous in reality)
I turned left and walked into a huge apartment as she carried on down the corridor, on my right were HUGE displays of Christmas chocolates, everything from the gigantic boxes of Quality Street you get in the UK to the Weihnachtsmen that I bought from a delicious little chocolate bar newly opened on the RĂ¼ here and everything in between, in the distance (must have been through a window as I was definitely inside) I could see a young Ben playing around rose bushes with other children, spraying each other with a hose pipe.
Then , with no transition (as happens in dreams, don't you find?) I was sitting on Si's lap and we were snogging like there was no tomorrow, when we came up for air I could see that our chair was to the side of a desk, at one side sat Tom Jones dressed and acting as a marine commander (although when tight, jodpurs became forces uniform I don't know) on the other side of the desk was a dishevelled Fidel Castro. Their conversation went something like this,
Castro 'so what do you think of my time saving work ethic?'
Tom 'it sounds to me as though it will take more than 9 men' which made Castro laugh
Then my alarm woke me up.

However, my overactive nocturnal imagination still hasn't managed to top a dream I had 15-20 years ago...I can date it reasonably accurately as it took place in the very first house that Si and I lived in together.

I was standing in our (teeny tiny) kitchen looking out into the back garden where Peter Shilton was standing towards the back (of an equally tiny garden) as I watched he started diving to save goals being scored by balls coming from the bedroom window above me.

This dream was made more odd because I don't enjoy football (although Si will watch any match he can - but draws the line at ladies football, they don't play very well apparently) and I will avoid watching football if at all possible.

Even further back, at university, I had a vivid dream (or perhaps a nightmare seeing as it awoke me in a sweaty panic) about monsters (GREAT BIG ones) coming up between the wall and the bed - this was an evening where we'd been to see either Alien or Aliens at the cinema. From that day I have refused to watch scarey films, I retreat to the kitchen* when the going gets (even remotely) bad...

Simon's opinion is that I shouldn't eat cheese before going to bed...

I don't plan to ever try to analyse my dreams, for fear of finding out the truth that my subconscious is trying to tell me!!

On a worrying note, I think that my daughter has inherited the crazy dream gene - some of the ones she reports could easily have come from my mind!!

* I wouldn't pay money to go to the cinema to watch a film that might scare me (even if there was the possibility of finding one such in original language here in DE rather than dubbed to hell and back) so it'd be on DVD or Sky, hence the chance to run to the woods at the first sign of danger.

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