Racovis

I am visiting my (vague, ill-defined) GP over concerns at my sudden outbreak of varicose veins. These have broken out on my legs - “How!?”, I wail – poking out in ruddy pulsating knots, especially on my thighs and calves. In particular I have a bloated, fatty sack hanging on my right thigh, connected by a thinner, twisted string of skin. It culminates in what I realise are silvery semi-reflective leaves. I ask my doctor if I can put this (presuming it will fall off) in my domestic food waste bin...?-

Holempersa

I am watching/immersed in the 'dreamescape' version of the 1970's television adaptation of Salem's Lot. This version stars David Soul and Dennis Hopper and starts with them being confronted by a primitive ape man of sorts. This intelligent looking fellow has a long aquiline nose, not unlike the proboscis monkey, and a fan shape of streaked sandy hair that is styled regularly on the top of his head and the sides of his face. Using some sort of spear/tool he sends both David and Dennis spilling over the edge of an incline in a cloud of dust (thus trapping and condemning them in the land of the vampires)-

Later on I recall a scene set in broad daylight, events unfolding on green meadows around a typical American timber farmhouse. In spite of my anticipation I am not scared of the vampires at all, in this case their leader, a sharp-suited fellow in his 60's with handsome features and grey hair. Someone spears him with a sword and, after an initial suggestion he is hurt, the old fellow bounces back, amused-

Qurfantyl

I am in some sort of stylish conference space, several people seated at the semi-inset, high black topped round tables (for discussions) up a few steps, themselves black risers. I am most interested in a group of six (lesser) comic artists, chaired by a Larry(?), who will be interviewing Frank Quietly. I remember thinking, “who is this Larry to be quizzing such a phenomenal talent?”-

When I finally catch up with Frank he is with his youngest son who lies on the floor, a red tub over his head, toying with his mobile phone-

On leaving (the centre?) we meet up with his eldest son, all smiles and life-affirmed enthusiasm. At this point I lie on my back on the ground while the Quitelys trail a length of chocolate icing – somehow fashioned from multiple muffins – into my mouth. They/we somehow manage to extract this just as I am about to choke. As soon as I am able I quip, “well... that's how it is on the street!”, to much group hilarity-

Jeekroth

I am witness to some strange event taking place between an elderly man and a Joker-esque home invader. The invader is less theatrical than The Joker but has a cold, restrained manner about him, albeit violence seems to lurk just under his surface. There is some matter of the old man wishing to protect a timber tabletop from damage-

After some discussion it is agreed that the old man has five minutes in which to sit/live, as he and his (absent) wife love to do so, in a patch of warm sunlight that is beaming on to their carpet. The old fellow calmly pulls up a chair while the invader busies himself elsewhere. After some time the man's wife enters the room (presumably back home from wherever she has been). It seems the invader has since made himself scarce and I can only surmise that he has decided, given how peacefully and contentedly the old man has sat, to let him live-

Raquan

I am in some sort of cafe/bar environment. I am in a quandary over what to buy for my lunch. There is a lady with a baby sitting nearby. I end up with an uninspired ham and lettuce open sandwich. My old neighbour Gee EmmCeeEmm offers me half of her unfinished sandwich. I just know it's tuna (on her breath?) and refuse-

I am waiting in line to pay. For some reason the lady with the baby (though without it now) is reclining behind the counter. She is dark and somehow sultry, dressed in black with a firm figure and strong features. Whatever she is doing her black suit jacket is open enough to expose her shadowy cleavage, her lemon shaped breasts – I can spy a nipple! - hanging loose in an ill-fitting top/shift. Is she about to feed the absent child? I try (not) to look yet study in fascination as I pay £20 for my lunch. The lady sits with her legs spread showing black tights up to deep blue panties that are stretched, to my disbelief, wide. I pay, puzzled at the price, and hunt for a bathroom-

I am holding my huge disembodied p*nis, ruddy as if of clay, in my right hand. I hold it against my smooth groin and check that it is as long as my left forearm-

Hyontuh

I am out walking with my older brother and my American brother-in-law. My son and my brother-in-law's sons are very much in mind – I'm conscious of their presence – if not in body. We are strolling (in Reno?) somewhere and I need to leave them to get something? -

I next find myself at the house of my old Largs Primary/Secondary school friend Enn Tee in John Street(?). The home has been extended in every direction to form a 'Community Library' with a very warm, rustic and casual coffee shop feel inside, the books tucked into timber shelves around the perimeter, the airy central space rising three storeys up to a vaulted(?) ceiling complete with roof lights. Enn sits just within the entrance and, to my surprise, is wearing a nun's habit. After some random, muddled browsing we acknowledge one another and start chatting (a little awkwardly). When she takes down her habit's hood she has short blonde wiry afro hair that is, oddly, growing over her temples. Some other old school friends – Ess? + two other males and a woman – sit chatting to our left. They are all much older but their faces are still identifiable. By contrast (and thankfully) none of them recognise me -

I am walking back to join our family party when my shoes get stuck in mud. At this point (now shoeless?) I am scared as a large alsatian dog – in a near-rerun of a frightening childhood experience – darts out some nearby bushes and leaps and bounds around me. I immediately put up my hands in surrender, hoping the owner is correct in that the dog “just wants my stick”, again a direct callback to the my younger self's incident  -

I am now explaining, with the help of a Google Maps-esque 3D map, how Enn is presently a nun and has converted her old house to create a library -

Wogert

I am with (a young version) of the musician Roger Waters and a vague ill-defined woman. Roger's mantra seems to be “f*ck it!”, and a loud exclamation of this prompts many rash actions, including sliding and skidding carefree down a steep sandy slope on our bottoms to a beach. I draw the line at the next, smaller, slope as it's more akin to rubble, and not the sort of surface you'd giddily slide down. I'm aware we need to be at my parents' house for dinner – I can see the uncooked fillets of fish, isolated in my mind's eye, awaiting us – but have no means of contacting them, although I keep referring to my mobile for the time. It's 5:05 – did I doze off? -