Nonnel

I am in some dreamescape underground walkway/tunnel. I am semi-stuck behind a delicate young woman who is dressed very chic with tremendously long streaky blonde hair. As she is on her phone (seemingly taking pointless selfies) she is meandering all over, making it awkward for me to squeeze past. When I see her – is she talking about 'some c*nt' - having finally passed I realise she is very pretty, with strong sharp features and the most beautiful eyes-

I am now in an underground chamber watching some show about (motion) comics on a widescreen television. It is presented by a comedian called Sean (who I do not normally like). He has curly hair, ruddy cheeks and circular John Lennon glasses and I am affected when he gets quite emotional with a James Cosmo-alike comic book artist. The James fellow, with a great bushy beard, beams a wide smile into the camera, his eyes filled with tears. (I imagine my artist friend Jay Dee is watching and similarly moved.) The end titles feature Batman (as drawn by the artist Scott Snyder) battling with a hoodlum in the back seat of a car-

https://alchetron.com

I go the wrong way along a tunnel, diverted by some maintenance works – do I see the comedian Frankie Boyle working away at a typewriter in an underground office, or do I just know that he does? I remember thinking I really should give him some Braw Books. I don't want to make two trips but have no books on me-

There is a weird elevated entrance down to some further network of tunnels. For some (unknown) reason I clamber up towards the ceiling, in part tangling and part suspending myself between service pipes and a chunky utility box. I am certainly on CCTV-

I am now outside at some sort of red metal dispenser box, scrolling slowly through the menu of items. There are four French teens, two boys and two girls, hovering impatiently at my back. One youth (who looks like Lazzaro) jumps ahead on the menu and selects a box of matches, also my choice. I call him "you French b*stard!" and clock him on the nose, knocking him on to the seat of his pants. I break into the dispenser box, quite sure a single box of matches remains. There's a bag inside the box and tearing it open I see that inside that looks to be a box of matches (only it is all covered in splashes of pure orange juice). It isn't matches after all but some long clear plastic box for lighting timbers(?). I then attempt to repair the box, trying to fit a new bag of items in beside a burst old rucksack-

Kilnk

Myself and Kay Emm. We are walking together in Glasgow, near the rear of the Kelvin Hall (in a dreamescape approximation) and she leaves me/vanishes to play the first level of a (Nintendo) Link-esque console game – she knows it well and will breeze through it, after which I'll take a turn. I can monitor her progress (on a wristwatch?) by means of a sun icon that sort of bleeds into a melted sunset as she plays through-

I get in a taxi with four heavy Glasgow guys and we drive off (in the wrong direction?). It's like a bus in that you press a 'stop' button to get out (and, of course, I am anxious to time it right, especially given I'm already conscious we're travelling in the opposite direction). I also have no money! Maybe I can get £10 from a cash machine? I stop the taxi and everyone gets out. I keep meaning to mention my financial situation/intentions but am too scared to do so. As it is the four guys turn off to the left and I walk on, no one acknowledging this at all. I wonder how I will ever catch/meet up with Kay Emm again if I don't know the game that well.... I notice my left foot – my slippers are, I'm sure, waiting for me somewhere on the way along Argyll Street – is quite fat and bloated, my third and fourth toes blending (for an instant) into one. I need to get to the doctor and so continue walking, the loose skin now sagging off the bottom of my foot as I 'schlep' along with each awkward step-

Arz

I am in an environment half way between the familiar feeling of my (bungalow loft converted, dormer window) childhood/teenage bedroom and a vast spacious NY loft apartment, large windows and cold natural light with minimal finish and furnishings. The Wu Tang Clan's RZA is there too. There are loads of stoner hangers-on lounging around, always ready to offer up a half-smoked fat blunt should I begin to object to their presence. Eventually I just snap and begin shouting my head off – this isn't cool by anyone's standards! I then drag RZA into my efforts to expose all the overloaded electrical sockets, shifting my bed and raging about the extension cables plugged into extension cables-

A man, his wife – who I definitely fancy – and her mother are paying me £50 to enter their house at 5am to wipe the condensation from the windows (even though, as I can see from outside, they are already up and awake). I have a female friend helping me, so that's a £25 split each-

Yefrr

World Animal Foundation - Helping Animals Across The Globe

I am in a dreamescape approximation of Ferry Road, in my old upstairs neighbour Jay's flat. We are in the front living room. He and I are seated side by side in armchairs on the left hand side, a door further along that wall. Opposite us - the dreamescape POV is looking along the room – there are two more armchairs in the middle of the (window) wall in which two women sit. Jay is mingling around restlessly as a blue seal cavorts around the room attempting to climb the walls. The seal continually crashes down onto the furniture prompting sympathetic 'oohs' and 'ahhs' as we look on – it often cracks its spine painfully on an armrest or somesuch. Latterly I notice it has a small embossed Union Jack emblem on one of its haunches-

The room is now filling with water and a plumber, who is using some sort of large spatula tool with the 'fb' (Facebook?) logo on on one side, is attempting to halt the flood. He needs to do this as the water level is now so high it threatens to flood up and over the kitchen electric hob – it is lapping dangerously close. I remark (to my parents) that, “I don't know what's going on at Ferry Road...”-

Gnilbis

I am at the flat of my work colleague Arr EmCeePee and his mother and I am with local cartoonists Kay Ess and Tee Cee. I've always known Tee Cee had some sort of serious eye condition and here it is quite evident, tears continually streaming from each eye and, oddly enough, exceptionally damp hands-

Dinner is a steak, although it looks uncooked, being pale and slick, less a slice of meat and more like an internal organ (but knowing Arr's a committed foodie I'm not too concerned). It's not very well cooked however, and the meat is raw and bloody when I cut into it-

Arr shows us three pieces of his art and I have to say I am very impressed – the principal larger work is of delicate winged male sprites/faeries, rendered in acrylic paints with washes of watercolour and very fine ink linework on top for definition-

Arr has left. The TV is on. Unfortunately Tee drips some tears onto this amazing art and leaves sweaty indents on the back with his fingers. I try to dry the piece from the back and accidentally tear it too. Tee and Kay head off to get Tee's repair kit(?), leaving me alone (but safe in the knowledge Tee's exceptionally skilled with his hands and art and ought to be able to repair it as good as new).-

A BT repair man arrives – at least it's not Arr! - and helps Arr's mother. On their return Tee (and Kay) proceed to fold the paper along my tear, smoothing it down (very) flat with a steel rule. Arr now returns and is not in the least concerned about the accidental damage!?-

Ssikwonk

It is grey and wet and (to the soundtrack of Acetone's 'Every Kiss') the guitarist Mike Lightcap and myself and my old school friend Ay EmCeeEll are riding dirt bikes along excavated roadworks. We are then biking on the sidewalk, driving over fallen protective plastic barriers and jumping over the gaps-

Acetone - Every Kiss

Then (to the sound of Acetone's 'All you know') I am playing football (but with a baseball) with 3/7(?) others in a sunken square pitch. The game seems a bit hard to follow – I am not really sure what's going on – but it's certainly very competitive. Michael(?) from work is there, as droll and serious as ever-

Acetone - All You Know

Remut

I am sitting in an ill-defined (dreamescape) cafeteria space with the lady Cee Cee from my work (and 2 to 3 a.n.others). We seem to be discussing cheesecake – has someone brought one in to work? - and it looks like Cee Cee has missed the opportunity to grab a slice. It just so happens I have a triangular slice of my own which, as it happens, is both homemade and half-eaten. I offer the remaining half to Cee Cee. She really doesn't know what to say. I mention that it was made by my mother-in-law and that, “I'm pretty sure I don't have Coronavirus.” (Is my little brother there, disapproving?) Besides all this I am somewhat concerned as I have a small kitchen knife with me, a 3 inch sharp blade into a rubbery burgandy handle. It is wrapped loosely in a crumb filled paper napkin-

I am preparing to do the washing up and I lift a mug from the basin to turn it the correct way up. It spills a mix of granola cereal and cooked rice with turmeric onto the (white) worktop – I curse myself for not attending to it earlier. Is my brother again present, scoffing at me? I hurry to scoop up the rice from the worktop (which has a sort of odd, inset plughole too) and notice that it is already leaving spotted yellow stains-

Camrick

I am with the musician and singer Nick Cave and we are having a discussion, something along the lines of addiction and I comment that my obsession with ??? is kind of like taking heroin... before hastily backtracking with a, “well, not really...”-

I am talking with the musician Mr. C and am waxing lyrical about Leftfield's 'Space Shanty', saying how I heard it playing in the shop HMV and that it is a stellar example of 1990's techno, that it is well and truly 'up there' with the very best the decade has to offer. Mr. C has a sly grin on his face – I cannot tell if he genuinely agrees or if he is humouring me (because he thinks I'm talking absolute crap)-

Leftfield - Space Shanty

Kluhcin

My old Studio colleague Dee Arr and the (Animal Kingdom) actor Luke Ford are attempting to revive a rangy dreamescape version of The Incredible Hulk, his arms covered in tattoos, moptop hair perched on a gnarled, goggle-eyed face complete with hook nose and a mean, downturned mouth – very sombre and unsettling looking.

Eee EmmCeeVee (from my work) is quizzing me over a kettle – do I show him I've poured out the boiling water? - as Dee and his cohort succeed in inducing the Hulk to raise his arm-

Citsreg

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I am playing in an Old Firm (Rangers vs Celtic) football match (in dreamescape name only). Neither team sports a recognisable strip of any sort, being casually dressed (and as such both 'sides' are virtually indistinguishable). Not only that but the game is being played in two square rooms separated by a short flight of several steps – these exit one room at the top left corner, entering the next at the bottom right corner. Does someone kick the ball out a window?-

Nortle

I am holding the (Braw Books - Sketch Sunday) baby, a hand under each armpit. It is covered in a myriad of tiny tattoos and has a crescent moon-shaped scar, yet to fully heal, on each bare buttock (as if it has been deliberately sat in broken glass... by me?)-

I am in a sort of cafe/restaurant, all rustic and rickety, bright and airy. A lady, Kay Cee, from my work keeps making jokes about bl*wjobs and is eventually asked outside to explain her rude conduct. It is 3:30 and we are already packing up (our work?) to finish at 4pm. I make a joke about our (architectural?) project, saying we should have put an "egg shop" in the rear courtyard (of our housing project) instead. Everyone, including Kay Emm, finds this hilarious, even when I repeat it a second time-

I am with another work colleague Ay Dubya and we are pleading with a (Sun newspaper) photographer not to publish photos of us trying to fix her computer (on company time... with the Taxpayer's money!). But, then again, aren't we doing it during our lunch hours?-

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I am chasing the actor Paul McGann's brother – who IS Paul McGann! - down the street. He's surrounded by a gaggle of teenage girl fans and I can do nothing but hang back and wait my turn-

Broeht

I am outdoors in a (Glasgow?) park and am about to attend a concert by The Orb. There is no one there due to the Covid-19 pandemic and the simple box stage, which looks distinctly amateurish, is empty. I walk down a gently grassy slope and I see a second stage where Alex Paterson, replete with bucket hat, stands behind a set of record decks. He is to my left hand side and to his right there's a woman – his dreamescape wife? - with thick rimmed NHS glasses and frizzy strawberry blonde hair. She is at a set of records decks of her own.-

Paterson spins records by The Orb while a (Black Lives Matter?) protest march is dispersing. Paterson peeks behind the stage (at what looks to me like nothing more than a bunch of town market stalls being dismantled) and, somewhat disgruntled in spite of his chilled demeanour, says, “the young people of today...” I suddenly realise now that Alex has emerged from behind his set of decks that he is not wearing any trousers or pants – his thick, stubby, rope-like p*nis points straight down, firmly sandwiched between his thighs. He has no pubic hair. He is puzzling to himself as some young white males, who exude the classic 'matey-with-underlying-threat' vibe pass by, Paterson evidently at something of a loss as to what he should play next-

Mitnoj

I am on a blustery beach and I am both talking to, as well as watching, The Charlatans singer Tim Burgess.

Their late drummer Jon Brookes, if not exactly present, is certainly swirling about in the fabric of the dreamescape. Tim is talking about the drug Meribone/Meridone(?) and how it makes him float above the waves – it does! He then proceeds to talk about standing on the shore and taking a piss, conscious of the early evening tide coming in at his back-