Anvlisa

I am sitting to the left of Ayy Cee, a lady co-co-worker. We're not in the same team, just on a 'hello' basis, and we are joking together. I have to check back on the previous year's registered cases. She talks about how hard I/we work and tells me that shares(?) in the company have gone up from 30 (somethings) to 80 (somethings), alluding to the fact we'll never see any benefit ourselves in spite of our toil – so why toil? The record book of the previous year is long and rectangular and, having taken off the clear plastic shrink-wrap, seems to consist of three lengthy biscuits separated by two intermediate layers of thick white cream. I peel off the first biscuit to open the book(?) and examine the figures-

Roprovd

I am at the house of my old primary and secondary school friend Arr Pee. In the dreamescape his family live in a huge isolated farmhouse-style home. At the time of my visit – am I nervous due to our teen falling-out? - it is the depths of winter and I keep getting recurring mental snapshots of the snow covered house, sitting cosy in the chilly landscape. Together with Arr's younger brother Gee we look at four new Christmas cushions they have bought, plump and square with a cut out of an animal in the fabric in the centre (or thereabouts) that allows you to see the fluffy internal stuffing – the cushion I am handling is of a deer or reindeer. This is quite unique and perplexing. Arr's father – again I am nervous of his opinion of me – is (to my surprise) most welcoming, inviting me out to join him/them while they walk their red setter dog. I politely decline, sensing absolutely no animosity towards me by this response-

Varjolta

I am in a large square garden space (in Partick?). There are lots of tall plants and it feels walled, if not oddly internal. The colours are drab and gloomy and in the centre of the shrubbery sits a long rectangular structure divided into eight equal squares. There are eight of these on each side of the object (hamster?). I know that this is some sort of graveyard and that these large squares are individual screens that serve as video playback for the deceased. The bottom left screen flicks into static life as I press a button to resurrect John Travolta. ('Is he actually dead?', is a constant thought from here on.) John's huge face fills the screen – he looks much as he does now, a round smiling face with a (dyed) goatee beard. He says something and the picture shifts to two (seeming) C-list English celebrities hugging jubilantly. I discern this footage is from some late (post-)career edition of Celebrity Big Brother. John almost seems to be addressing me directly-

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-