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?-

tardis.fandom.com/wiki/

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-