Wodolfwai

It seems that the musician Stuart Braithwaite has invited me to join his band Mogwai. Although the audition process (somewhat confusingly) involves wading into the water – we seem to be at some sort of coastal marina - and swimming out. I experience panic knowing I cannot touch the seabed. As we both tread water – the scene is now, oddly enough, reminiscent of the band Slint's Spiderland album cover - I am asking about what happens next. Stuart simply encourages me (between gulping for breath)-

Myself and my little brother want to go to see the film Zorro only it's half past 5 – too late! We take the car, my brother speeding as I sit, uncomfortable and worried, in an ill-fitted and decidedly shaky (and yet robustly manufactured) blue and black fabric covered baby seat. My brother pulls out of Bankhouse Avenue in Largs and on to the Irvine Road, nosing the car around a white van and trailer that is emerging from nearby John Street. At another junction he narrowly skirts around the front of a police van that is also hoping to turn-

We are walking/rushing (to the Pencil monument in Largs?) along a shore path that is elevated back and way from the sea by several metres. At a large inlet we can see an orange and black speedboat beached on the rocks (but shaking as if in open water). Dolph Lundgren and Jean Claude Van Damme, both sporting similarly orange and black swimsuits, are filming a movie. They both look old, with long, straggly hair, as I switch to the camera's POV, their lined, weary faces creased as they shout and gnash their teeth theatrically. Then, to my dismay, they spot my brother and I and start to shout and gesticulate, indignant that we are not so interested in two such "mega stars". They even, in a wide shot of this entire beach scene, fire a machine gun at us, the bullet's trajectories tracing bright streaks as they zip towards us, banging and flashing spectacularly. But we are Scottish (like Mogwai!) and we are "too metal!". Now this they understand and they leave us alone, going back to their filming-

I am now with my friend Jay Emm on the path and he finds my barking of "too metal!" really funny. He says, adopting a creaky granny's voice, "bing bong bing bong bong bong bing metal!"-

Brilluce

mytalk1071.com

I am in quite a tight (but tall) unfurnished room. The walls are smooth and painted a deep blue colour. The underground comic writer Cee Cee is present and, recognising me, he and I chat. I am then amazed to see the underground comic artist Kay Ess there and I bundle myself up under a duvet (behind some sort of basic timber stud construct?) and (sort of) surprise him when he eventually uncovers me-

There's a moment of tension when Kay Ess, standing over to the right of the room, narrowly (though he does not notice) avoids being struck by a piece of MDF structure that falls (sluggishly, silently) from the ceiling. It seems that Cee Cee (inadvertently) triggered this near accident. There are two of these drawer-like MDF pieces semi-fixed to the underside of the floor above and they form the bottom of some sort of gaming chair/install. The second piece, potentially the middle, has two short, light blue coloured furry legs that dangle down and, as I fit the fallen piece into place, I marvel at the effort that has gone into (making) it-

I am then exploring the rest of this flat, a giant room in an (almost) half teardrop shape with a high ceiling – enough space to accommodate a speedway track (in my dreamescape opinion). The walls are painted deep purple and are covered with rather primitive graffiti, mostly rendered in a silver spray paint – a lot of the art is similar to the PWEI or Jesus Jones motifs. We – there are other people present, viewing the flat – all speculate on what happened to the (previous) occupant (who I assume to be a male 'metalhead'). Has he been quite suddenly evicted, and why? Or has he passed away? Of course, my 'metalhead' theory is somewhat confounded by the elaborate centerpiece of this great room – a huge display-cum-open wardrobe. There are hundreds of neatly ironed shirts hanging in well organised rows and many pairs of shoes stored in tidy open drawers for ease of access-

I am at the home of the actor Bruce Willis, an impressive, slender sandstone building with neat white window frames and two smaller corresponding buildings, one for each of his daughters(?). Taken together the three buildings form a private inner courtyard of sorts. The building belonging to his youngest daughter (15 or so years old, the elder 21-ish) is very slim and accessed by external curved stone steps. She is some sort of sculptor/jewellery maker and Bruce is rightly proud of her talents-

I am huddled somewhat by a bunch of people, one of whom in our unavoidable proximity I recognise to be Claire (? a complete, yet familiar, creation of the dreamescape). She has pleasant, plain features with large, slightly sad eyes and sleepy, hooded lids. Her hair is cut short in a boy-ish style. (Is she like an actress from the film The Commitments?).

We are delighted to see each other and even more so when she tells me she has a baby boy. ...the only thing is her child is tiny! He's not only minute but he's (not far off from being) the exact double of the cartoon Mickey Mouse (right down to wearing the same clothes). He sits in the palm of Claire's hand and stares upward, mouthing/gesticulating happily – there is a long lingering 'shot' of him doing just this. I say that I guess he must be bottle fed as his tiny mouth would never be able to accommodate a nipple. Suddenly the wee boy/mouse is off and running and I am terrified he will be accidentally squashed in our efforts to catch him as he dashes in and about the skirting board-

Whedge

I am lying in bed. The ill-defined shape of someone sitting at the edge is facing towards me, a dull shadow, quite motionless. This, I'm sure, is the former Stone Roses guitarist John Squire. We do not speak and I think about how I considered sending him the first Telemachus album (during his non-music period) in the hope that he'd either A – like it, or B – be inspired enough to pick up the guitar again. I marvel at the way the Stone Roses song 'She's The One' (?) is composed, the recording layered up for a powerful, rousing sound. Mixmaster Morris – Kira Kira?-

The second(?) figure is, after my taking a while to work it out, the comedian Steve Coogan. He sits with his back towards me, looking at me over his shoulder. He sports a long, greying hairstyle (Bill P. Sinner?) and (as he is naked) is fumbling for his testicles. I announce, "get yer bollocks off me bed!"-

Gwamf

I am back at University (the dreamescape version, a familiar-ish environment, the sense of place strong if not exact). There is a huge statue in black cast iron with a giant, mottled foot. I walk upstairs and along the corridor by the student 'units' - teaching spaces formed by simple timber partitioning. I see a fellow female student Ell Eff (and does she look right through me, or close her eyes, ignoring me completely?). I seem to pass her twice and the second time - by now I want her to acknowledge me – she definitely completely blanks me-

I go outside and someone, a quite overwhelmed student, asks me, "are you Ratty Scallion?" It seems I am famous for evading/defeating the large black statue (which, incidentally has just come to life and is stomping around the campus). As I dodge this I am sort of interviewed by a reporter, commenting on events related to this incident(?). He is showing me CD and vinyl albums-

I am in Wales, 'looking and loading' a large bundle of vinyl records. The horizon is sandwiched between a man's hand-

I meet the Prime Minister (a male, not ill-defined). He gives me a great hand-enveloping greeting, full of enthusiasm. For sale. "You're going to be all kinds of bother"-