I had a bit of a moan about life in general the other day, and was nostalgic for the vivid dreams I used to behold, now largely superseded by sludgy grey affairs like grainy old amateur videos shot in a tool shed. If the standard of your dreams of late is not what you have come to expect, I recommend complaining, for things have picked up somewhat in the last few nights. Production values have improved and the scripts are more engaging.
Dream the first.
A world in which there are slithy tove-like creatures known as ‘turkey hooks’. From their umbrella-handle snouts, they emit trills and roulades that turkeys find quite irresistible. This world is therefore full of paired up turkeys and ‘turkey hooks’ strolling around, happily trilling and gobbling.
Dream the second.
I’m at a university, and this afternoon I have a private lesson with Ravi Shankar, but cannot be arsed to attend. I decide to text him to let him know I’m cancelling. How, I wonder, do I address him?
‘Dear Ravi’? Too familiar.
‘Dear Mr Shankar’? Too western.
‘Panditji’? Too grovelling and a bit self-conscious.
Dream ends before I can come to a decision.
In waking life I would make a very considerable effort to attend a meeting with Ravi Shankar, so my dream decision to casually put him off requires a bit of explanation, and I am evolving one.
Good. This is more like it - a nice, well-made little dream that entertains you while you’re watching, and gives you something to think about after.