Just had to awaken myself out of rather unpleasant paranoiac dreams. In these dreams Teresa and I didn’t seem to have a home. Or even know where we lived. I was kipping in the bedroom of an ol’ pal.
His room morphed from a messy hippy type deal, to a spic n’ span room, full of Indian trinkets, with three foreign guys (London taxi drivers, of unknown ethnicity) in it.
His place, accessed by a tiny wooden portal, overgrown with ivy, was perched on a vertigo inducing sea-front precipice. I was in his bed – he was kipping on the floor – from which I was unable to escape, due to a combo of priapism and lack of vestments!
I was also a pupil somehow, of a primary school, in my ‘50s, but playing truant. And I seemed to be on some form of scooter-like (but emphatically not a scooter) near invisible transport, zipping alongside an arid desert-like road.
My host went to work, whilst I hid under my duvet. We have the first obvious meeting with reality there! As I’m still abed.
There was also a theme of lots of people, mostly hippy-ish former clubber types, abounding; some I knew, most I didn’t. All icily ignored me, or referred to me third party/persona non grata.
I had had a vehicle parked up, near the friends home, down a long sandy switchback track, again near the sea. But my vehicle had disappeared! Here the dream again touches fairly obviously on my current reality.
The fear/paranoia element was growing so overwhelmingly strong I forced myself, as it appears one can do at need, to wake up.
Upon waking I’ve made myself a bacon butty, and heated up the flask of coffee Teresa usually makes for me at the start of the day (bless her!).
I’ve subsequently rung my insurer, to try and light a fire under their pursuit of my recent ‘total loss’ claim. And I’m going to continue with my efforts to advertise and sell as much music gear as possible.