Many years ago, I decided to keep a record of my dreams in a little book. Why? I do not know. Perhaps I was searching for answers, perhaps it was the historian in me wishing to preserve the past, or maybe I was bored. In any case, I am glad I did so, for I have rediscovered this book and published some excerpts of my dreams below. I hope you find them as interesting as I do. I have added some notes in italics below some entries.
I was starring in a horror film in which grinning skeletons attacked people in a semi-detached house. I played the role of Wilfred of Ivanhoe and was about to take on the bad guys, when Big D and Sarge walked onto the set. They invited me to the pub and I accepted.
Big D was a good friend of mine. After school, he worked in a handful of jobs, then became a full-time dole-scrounger. He and his friend Sarge get drunk in some nasty little bar in my home town every Friday and Saturday night.
Emilie paid a visit and I had to listen to her sing and play the piano in a petrol station. She was dreadful. Played cards with Mr. Rage and Roland. I had virtually the whole deck in my hands, so I laid down the Ace of Spades. It turned out I had put down the Nine of Spades; Mr. Rage picked up a pair of scissors and cut it up. Received a strange parcel from an obsessed girl containing hundreds of pounds in cash and a letter proposing marriage. How could I refuse?
Mr. Rage is my brother and Roland is his best friend. Emilie was a pretty French girl to whom I had lost my virginity the previous Autumn.
A group of travellers was pursued by a bounty hunter. They had to split up, dismount and hide in the woods. One group was tracked down and killed. The Emperor Joseph II of Austria made a comment about English soldiers of the time: “…among the most uncouth rabble one is likely to find. They will help themselves to any females they should capture, but will be mightily disheartened should such creatures be with family.”
At the General Election, I decided to vote for the Demolition Party, led by Vivian Basterd MP. Its manifesto: to destroy buildings and promote violence in all its forms.
This was a couple of months before Tony Blair won a landslide victory in the ’97 General Election. We all know what happened after that.
I was the star of a Hollywood film about a psychotic android policeman who caused chaos in Boston, Massachusetts. Simply by pointing at people, he could make them turn on me. Prior to the action, I was eating toast with some classmates. I had just put on some honey, when a mob began to wreck Boston Harbour. The crowd grew in size and turned its attention on me. With mounting horror, I realised that half of the city wanted to tear me apart. They chased me down an alley, firing shots as they went. I could not hold them off with a 9mm pistol, so I vaulted a chain-link fence and ran for my life, the mob all the while crying “Weirdo! Weirdo!”
In the school canteen, where I bought myself a large packet of crisps. Basil showed me a star-chart which had God at the top. This was apparently how we all got our names and identities. I wondered how I had got my name. Later, I walked around a pleasant neighbourhood where all the fences were wrought-iron and the houses like expensive Chelsea apartments.
Basil is my dearest friend. He emigrated to Germany years ago and I have seen very little of him since. I miss Basil.
Mum had a new job working as a shopkeeper in Cornwall, which she hated. At the end of her shift, we got into her car, which was parked inside the shop, and drove through the doorway. No sooner had we arrived back in Hometown, I had to rehearse alongside my sister and her friends for a musical in Lord of the Flies school hall. Everyone else in the cast was short and I towered over them. I felt hopelessly miscast.
I spent seven years at Lord of the Flies Comprehensive. I don’t miss it one bit.
Watched The Empire Strikes Back, except the chief protagonist was a stormtrooper who flew a TIE Fighter. I then found myself in school with Cousin G. She was reprimanded by a teacher for talking too much. I became worried about my Pure 1 maths exam, then realised I didn’t have such an exam because I wasn’t studying mathematics. Bumped into Lenny Henry, who talked fondly of his mother’s cooking. I wondered what Tina Turner’s life was like before she met Ike.
I learned that a million people were being kept as slaves in Firetop Mountain, while a fairground ride had been set up at the entrance to the dungeon to conceal its location. I found a way to sneak in and had to locate many artefacts in order to defeat the Warlock, Zagor. Rita Hayworth was being held prisoner – I had to rescue her!
‘The Warlock of Firetop Mountain’ was the first book of the popular Fighting Fantasy series, founded by Steve Jackson and Ian Livingstone. I loved those books more than life itself.
Another Fighting Fantasy adventure. I had to defend a pub from marauding undead. Later on, I took part in a car race with Mum in the passenger seat. We got stuck in a subterranean roundabout – all the exits were too steep – so the old bag got angry and left me there, where I contracted bubonic plague.
Went for a walk in Oakwood Park with Big D and his mother. I told them that the park was inhabited by sprites. Later on, I found myself in a busy airport. There, I bought a lottery ticket and won a house. This house, a terraced property on C___ Rise, happened to be owned by Beanhead’s mother. Despite her protestations, I evicted her and moved in. I was delighted with the view and looked forward to inviting my friends round. I then returned to the airport, as if waiting for someone to arrive.
Oakwood Park was where my friends and I spent many a blissful weekend, drinking cider and smoking marijuana. Beanhead, a school friend, did not join us on these escapades, as he was a good little boy scout. He’s now an aviation engineer and sings Gilbert & Sullivan in his spare time.
I tried out a revolutionary new cooking method, as demonstrated on TV by Ken Hom: frying under the grill. I greased the pan on both sides and turned it over regularly, but the smoke from the grill made me choke. The kitchen door also kept slamming.
I was leading a platoon of Buddhist Marines across Bodmin Moor, Cornwall. We were chased by the local police force. The chief constable eventually gave up the pursuit but vowed, with a shake of his fist, to ban the Dalai Lama from his county. Later got chatting to a posh girl. She wasn’t interested.
Set in the future on a newly-discovered Earth-like planet. The colonists had formed an independent state under the governorship of Mr. Rage, of all people. He was doing a damned fine job of it, as it turned out. I was a member of the senate and we were assigned the task of designing a flag for our nation. The fools around me could do no better than a flag depicting a psychedelic Bill Clinton holding a golf club. My design, on the other hand, showed a spaceman underneath crossed swords and a crown on a white background. Mr. Rage returned with a list of things for me to do in his absence. I presented him with my design and got a favorable response.
LOTF School had transformed into a great fortress with a large garrison. Many miles away lay another castle owned by the Chinese People’s Army. It was only a matter of time before they attacked, yet all the teachers were getting drunk. It was left to me to formulate a defence strategy.
Went on holiday with Mum to New York. The place was creepy and reminded me of the game Last Ninja 2. After a lengthy search, we found a reasonably-priced hotel. It was comfortable enough, but spiders kept getting in through the window.
‘Last Ninja 2’ was a game I played on my Commodore Amiga. Good fun, but tremendously difficult.
The French exchange students had returned. While they wandered around, I discovered, to my horror, that I was balding. I tried hard to hide it from my classmates and learned that if I ruffled my hair, the baldness would not be visible. I later found Mortitia standing on her friend’s shoulders and wearing a raincoat in an effort to appear tall.
Teenaged Spideron was fortunate enough to wake up with a full head of hair every morning. Mortitia was a diminutive French exchange student. I stayed at her house for a week and ate like a king. She had the dubious honour of living with my dysfunctional family for seven days, poor thing.
I had to relive the A-level experience, except this time I had no idea what to write. Miss B____’s harsh treatment of last year’s failures reminded me of what was potentially in store for me. Talked to Claire Danes about basketball. We played Christmas carols on the guitar in a large wooden hall. ‘Twas the season to be jolly, after all.
Prior to becoming a movie star, actress Claire Danes played an angst-ridden teen in the TV show ‘My So-Called Life’ alongside Jared Leto. I was quite fond of the show, as I recall.