So last night I had this properly awesome dream. It's happened a few times in the last few weeks and I've been determined to start writing them down. Unfortunately, this intention was never followed up with the act of actually writing them down. I would remember that I had some bizarre nighttime narrative, but I wouldn't actually remember the content. Anecdotally, remembering that you had a good dream isn't quite as engaging as the dream itself. But this morn I wrote it down. I'm not a dream analyst so make of this what you will.
The dream started in Salisbury. It wasn't Salisbury, but it was a city playing the part of Salisbury in the dream, and I was heading down the A36 in my Mini Cooper. It was red (it gets better than this, just stay with me). So I'm in my Mini and I pull up at the Castle Road roundabout which has three lanes of traffic, and a white van pulls up alongside me. The light goes green and the van tries to drag race me. Initially I decide not to participate, but eventually I make the move to teach him a lesson about racing Minis. This was a Mini Cooper S, by the way. The fastest of all the Minis. I make him look a fool.
The reason for my journey in my Mini Cooper S is to go see Alan Sugar (the British twat at the centre of the original "Apprentice"). Think Donald Trump, but with more hair and a face that needs a good slap. I made my way to his underground lair, where he is sat at his desk at the back of a cave hollowed out of a mountain. Hollowed out mountains are few and far between in Salisbury; that place must have cost a fortune. I'm arguing with him about something, I think it was KFC, and was throwing around some pretty cleverly constructed insults: "Oh, my God! You're such a twat! Is there something wrong with you? I hate you! You're everything that is wrong with people!" In retrospect, not my finest lines, but I think it gets the point across. It was like one of those dreams where you're punching someone over and over again and it doesn't even phase them. They hardly seem to notice but you really want them to take stock of how much you hate them; you know, 'cos of the punches. But Alan Sugar could give a rat's ass about my abuse. He just calls over his henchman Vinnie Jones who escorts me out of the building.
(It's at this point that I sincerely hope other people have regular dreams in which they relentlessly pummel people with their fists.)
I'm escorted to a huge escalator where there's a line of people, presumably being kicked out of the cave also. When I was in Japan I went to the largest escalator in the world and this one was considerably bigger. Unfortunately, its construction was not to the same specification of the Japanese one. Parts of it were made from wood and swayed from side to side. It was then that I noticed the man in front of me was none other than Stephen Fry. Stephen Fry was mere inches from my face! He's in my top five of "famous people I'm going to force to be my friends!" My excitement lasted all the way up until the escalator started giving me electric shocks. The shocks became more frequent and increasingly intense the higher the escalator got, although I seemed to be the only person that this was affecting. About two thirds into the ascent I can feel myself passing out from all the electric shocks, and I collapse on the escalator. My eyes open to see Stephen looming over me with a look of utter contempt. As he rolls his eyes he simply mumbles "pathetic..." and walks off. Oh, God, no! Stephen! No!
And I wake up.
