Noxas

I am travelling (at what feels like night) on a bus, sitting on an aisle seat on the left hand side, about half way up the coach. It seems we are bound for Greenock and I am worried that I will miss my stop (as I am not at all familiar with the route). Having come to a halt I am unsure if I should get off here or at the next stop (for what it transpires is a connecting ferry service). Is it too early to get off? I ask the driver at the last minute and he advises me to disembark. The man seated across from me (who just so happens to look like the actor John Saxon) on the aisle is displeased and shouts down to the driver that he's not satisfied and will be making a formal complaint-

In my dash (across a stony beach) from the bus to the waiting ferry I scrabble across the rough surface. Stopping to take stock for a moment I realise I have lost everything from my scabby, useless wallet. In a panic I scramble back towards the bus where the driver (who now also resembles the film actor John Saxon) points out that my I.D. / Season ticket are in fact scattered on the stones. I quickly gather these up, equal parts reassured/troubled that I have £15 secreted in a pocket somewhere-

I am indoors and I am hoovering. A young girl (with learning difficulties) is in charge of the vacuum's hose attachment while I monitor some sort of filter flap at the rear of the body near the floor. This filter keeps jamming and whining as there are trailing threads(?) within the hoover which keep catching. The main body of the hoover itself is a large, bulky washing machine-esque object. The actress Kristen Scott Thomas is also present and she gives occasional instructions. At first the going is quite good but becomes steadily worse and worse, the floor (that we've already hoovered) somehow again covered in straw, stones and paper clips. I ask the young girl to start picking up the larger objects as I take over the directing of the hose-

Eeoteezoop

I am with my cartoonist friend Jay Emm and a.n.other. We are indoors and are walking from one room to the next. Something is deeply troubling me as we do so, something about Jay needing to be in the company of two people because it means he's going to...

… commit murder! As the door to this shadowy room shuts behind us I have this sudden realisation... but too late! To my complete terror Jay – who is now nothing more than a blurred, lumpen silhouette – pounces on my companion and proceeds to stab him rapidly several times. I am completely petrified as he stops, turning his attention to me-

I am in a crowded club/student union watching a DJ. The place is rammed, the DJ booth just over to my left. I know that this is the support act and I am highly anticipating the headliner. It looks as if I am alone in this as the place rapidly empties as the DJs change over. What's worse is that my (old) friend Cee Cee is among the few people remaining. I really do not want to talk to him as he comes over having spotted me-

I am now out in the street, balancing up on the kerbside and trying to avoid upsetting some magic tricks as performed by a few older men-

I am on some sort of coastal road travelling at dusk, the light slowly fading. I am perched on a sort of small tubular metal crucifix finished in a while gloss paint dip. This unusual object is my means of transport – I keep catching on the ground or am unable to negotiate rough surfaces, all the time conscious of a family(?) in gentle pursuit-

Mottob

It seems I have booked in on a coach trip to see The Charlatans play a concert in Dublin (and the gig has finally been rescheduled due to the Coronavirus pandemic). As luck would have it I discover, after some initial confusion, that The Orb are playing later the very same night. So, assuming both gigs are still going ahead, I'm hoping to not only catch both concerts but also to see my old friend Dee Bee-

Unbeknownst to Dee Bee, myself and my old friend Arr are standing outside his (dreamescape bungalow) house, waiting by the hedge and peeking over into his front garden. Only Dee Bee's wife/partner and her pal are there, two chubby and jolly women discussing homemade sweets. “He'll like bonbons”, says Dee's partner, one of several remarks about the obvious delicacies she has made (for him)-

Within a flash (as per the dreamescape) the two women vanish to be replaced by Dee himself. We can just see his head and shoulders when suddenly he flops up and off his seat and waddles into full view, his formerly trim body ballooned into a wobbling, comical flabby ball shape. Although he doesn't acknowledge us he begins to act up, preforming little comedy trips and slides that would be quite amusing but for the fact he looks so ridiculous and bloated. “So not a good look”, remarks Arr-

I am watching Rik Mayall and Adrian Edmondson perform 'Bottom: Live', and I am both enjoying the performance and (as is my creative curse) often thinking beyond it and analysing it. At present they are being struck on the head in turn by a huge suspended wrecking ball. This happens a couple of times to each. After, as they recoil and recover, Ade/Eddie begins his next lines. It's then that blood becomes quite noticeable on Rik/Richie's right temple, a small trickle just at the hairline. The splotch gets steadily more bloody as Rik halts his performance to acknowledge it. Eddie has stopped too and the audience holds its breath. It is, of course, a cunning ruse and the pair of them turn, their faces contorted into smug, sneering 'gotchas!'. (As this has all been going on I clicked at the trick, marvelling at how Ade's behaviour must have drawn the audience attention away from Rik to allow him to place/puncture the blood bag.)-

Einaeybab

I am back in (a dreamescape approximation of) the front living room of my old Glasgow/Ferry Road flat. I am over by the bay window, finished in brown timber, a wooden dining table and (4) chairs tucked neatly into the tight space. I am attempting to prevent small Beanie Baby-alike animals from getting into the flat (although latterly I am plucking them from in amongst the legs and struts of the dining table chairs). The animals are slightly abstract in appearance but are definitely alive, walking upright, shuffling slowly (and a little mischeviously and sinisterly) in a vague, stop-motion animation manner-

As things progress my playful attempts at carelessly tossing them from the floor and up on to the window cill prove (accidentally) fatal and I kill/murder a small pig in this way, holding it regretfully in my hands as its little life winks out. Finally I seem to do the same to one (of two) little old ladies, again small and slightly abstract in appearance, watching as her inner light fades and she dies in (and by) my hands-

Purtidd

I am at (the dreamescape approximation of) my office work. My old secondary school maths teacher Mr. Marshall appears to be presiding over proceedings. I am due to take my 15 minutes morning tea break but don't leave my seat until 10:20 – I should be back by 10:30! - to run over to Missing Records. I'm cutting it fine and jog on over in the rain, hoping to grab a quick browse before heading back-

I enter the shop to find it is long and snaking (more akin to the original Glasgow Oswald Street Missing shop than anything else). Immediately on entering there is a rack with Bollywood Films ahead of me – one is titled 'Zin' – with a rack of discounted 7” singles on my right. Beyond this is the shop counter, further up on the left, and what appears to be (of most interest to me) the 'items just in' rack to the right of that. As I begin to move forward one of the (familiar) staff says, “alright?”, and ushers me over to the counter and an unfamiliar lady (who nonetheless acts very familiar). She has some promo DVDs of a Japanese Samurai movie, some obscure kung-fu slasher re-release, one of several copies the shop are handing out to loyal customers. I take it out of the paper sleeve, already thinking I'll never be able to make the time to watch it, but instead say that I will view it over the weekend and bring it back next week. The lady says it is no problem and that it is mine to keep. She labours the point and, unable to get away, I bump into Gee Bee from my work. I say to the lady I'll give the DVD to Gee Bee to watch next and this somehow seems to create a stink, the vibe between the three of us, Gee Bee and the lady especially, turning quite sour and awkward, almost insulting. We then seem to get caught up in a weird group hug (from which I'm anxious to excuse myself, mindful that I must now be quite late back for work)-

As I race across the road – it's 10:38 – a guy shouts me back. I must have dropped my rail pass and a single passport photo as I jogged to Missing Records and they've been languishing in the wet for near 10 minutes. I thank the guy profusely, thinking to myself that this is turning into a sh*t day, and stuff them back in my (unzipped) pocket. I figure I might make it to work not too late – Gee Bee is often late and no one seems to bother about that. The problem is-

I am lost! I cannot seem to find my bearings at all and am sure that in all my frantic and muddled running I have completely overshot the office building. I stop outside an old red sandstone building. It is now gently sunny. A burly Arabic man and his young son are climbing up the face of this building (in an attempt, I assume, to get their bearings too). Thinking this a a sound course of action I proceed to do the same. I climb up to what is the first floor (although it feels MUCH higher) and walk along a ledge to my right. From the vantage of where the building turns the corner I can see my (modern) office (architectural monstrosity) looming over its surroundings in the near distance-

Naturally my descent proves far harder than my ascent. For one thing the Arab and his son have vanished (around the corner?) and the face of the building has grown much more narrow – I cling desperately to each and every available handhold, gingerly probing with my feet for a steadying support to safely assist my way. Timber window frames splinter and loosen in my grip and the stonework is similarly weak, crumbling the moment after I assume a firm handhold. In this slow, and somewhat terrifying, manner I make little speedy progress. At one point, peering into a stone corner a realise that an eye, a yellowed, ancient eye, is staring back out at me. I completely fail to register it at first then, looking again, I become quite transfixed, totally hypnotized... After staring into this unblinking orb for a very long time I utter a strained, “thank you”, and continue on my way-

Back on the ground at last I am more or less immediately surrounded by a gaggle of my work colleagues, a frantic 'search party' sent out to find me after my failure to return. Arr EmmCeePee makes some remark about drugs as I gush my way through a recollection of my experience with the staring eye up on the building-

Sgrall

I am with my father back in (a dreamescape approximation of) our old Largs home. We are in the garden discussing his plans to repair the dividing wall between ours and our neighbour's property. The wall as it exists looks fairly new with the exception of the middle third which, being of traditional stone, is aged and crumbling – it is also not as tall as the sections of wall to either side which, this odd interruption aside, do seem to flow height-wise as an intended whole. My father is saying how he will remove the older wall and infill that part as well as adding a metre or so in height along its entirety – as the neighbour's home is elevated it ought not to affect their vantage-

I am in an office contemplating whether I should accept an offer to travel solo to the moon – one sits cross-legged in a small spherical craft to make the journey (only I am unsure of my ability to fly such a machine). I am being coaxed by a Lewis Hamilton-alike who is already on the moon. Eventually, following much anxiety, I accept and (after a sudden dreamjump) am there, tucked into my little sphere all ready to go. Unfortunately, as smooth and problem free as the journey was, now that I have landed on the moon there is some fault with the sphere's mechanism that ought to provide me with food-

I am overjoyed when I realise that my friend Ayy Ess has a comic strip starting in the Daily Express newspaper, some futuristic tale about a mallet-headed individual who rides atop a flying, winged double decker bus – this is part of a feature announcing that the strip is 'coming soon'. I remark to Kay Emm that he had another strip a while ago but that it fizzled out somewhat-

Suriv

I am working in a bookstore in the United States. It has either just reopened or finished reorganising after (a wave of) a deadly virus. We are restocking books on to racks – I clearly remember the spot on the floor where a sanitiser-cum-sink stood, housed in a tall, square cross-sectioned natural finish timber upstand-

One of the (two) tall windows to the front of the shop, to the right, has been replaced with an opaque red pane – apparently this has been newly installed to provide some protection from a forthcoming storm. A young Bruce Dern-alike is making a good point about how come the other window, the one that happens to overlook his section of the store floor, has not been similarly upgraded. Another member of staff quips that it is because he is expendable-

I then make the mistake of pumping a hand sanitiser, the long tube/spout of which seems to stretch over the top of the till/computer station. There is an immediate fuss and we all cluster around the screen to the front – I pumped from the back – to see if it is still working. It is! Then it isn't... the screen striped with white vertical lines before suddenly cutting out. I then attempt to fill the till, which has a tiny cash drawer (full of paperclips and wire ties). What I assume to be money is much the same, packs of paperclips and fat wire ties about an inch long. I suggest, given the risk of spreading the virus, we only accept 'contactless' payments and the inter-staff debate that ensues means that my “can I help you” towards a waiting female customer, who has been roundly ignored, is too late. I then turn to my right and ask the same of a young mother with a pram-