Zodroyth

I am with an ill-defined a.n.other on a dark and dusty plain, the sky all brooding clouds, a chill wind blowing. All we can hear is the pained mewling of a cat, a horrible sound that makes one's blood run cold. Ahead of us, slowly emerging from the gloom, seems to be the hull of a boat supported on huge great timber stilts that are set into the sand(?) along either side - it sits up off the ground and has a flat bottom of sorts. It seems this pained screeching is coming from under the boat – it's taken us some time to home in on the source, a task that has caused us much anxiety. There in the darkness appears to be a cat, hunched down and near-invisible in the half light. Soon enough it emerges, a horrible one-eyed creature, its hair dirty and matted, and practically trundles (like K-9) along on its haunches, terrorising us-

I am at the (grand) home of Dee, one of the front-of-house security guards at my current work. I am in a large purple hued (living) room and using a fat Sharpie marker I am drawing sweeping curves on his sofa, trying to follow the line of the folds and creases in the blue patterned fabric. Quite what has possessed me to do this I do not know – Dee has a fearsome temper – and I simply stare at and examine the material, unsure if my act of (well-intentioned?) vandalism will remain undetected for long-

I meet Dee's (dreamescape) wife Penelope as she emerges from their (old fashioned, traditional) kitchen. She is very petite and mild mannered, her dark hair drawn back in a ponytail. She wears a very pretty light purple evening dress that plumps out from her hips down (a la Dorothy from Oz)-

Batokemr

I am in a dimly lit (living?) space with (Tom Baker's fourth) Doctor Who (and possibly his assistant Sarah Jane Smith). The curtains are drawn and we take delivery of three Amazon parcels. I assume the contents of these are to help with whatever it is The Doctor is holed up here to muse over but... the first box, that has sort of opening flaps, contains three pint glasses, each of which is set into a frozen circular base. Tom/The Doctor proceeds to pour us a cider each before adding (different) ice. This, he states, ought to help us all think-

Figgett

I am in a spacious, dimly lit corridor facing a set of large, industrial-looking elevator doors. The doors are thrumming, emitting steam/smoke and radiating an intense heat. I suspect there is a fire (somehow) and approach a group of hardhatted workers on the floor above, alerting them to my concerns. One of the workers checks out the elevator and more or less confirms my suspicions. Suddenly the lower third of the doors buckles outward in some sort of rapid release. Next I look the doors have simply vanished and, as well as the previously mentioned worker, another, a black gut with a bald head appears – he seems to be emerging from within the lift shaft-

I am then making my way outside, the immediate environment all twisting out of shape around me. Outside and to my right stands my former work colleague Dee Cee. She is standing on a kind of artificial ridge and talks to a worker who is over on my left. Beyond that is another former work colleague, Jay Tee. He is talking to a group of workers who seem to be (in charge of) operating a crane/lifting mechanism. There are several large industrial containers outside too. These begin to buckle and collapse from their elevated positions, It's time to make a(nother) run for it-

I am then (in all likelihood) on the other side of the ridge and about half way down a steep slope that curves down towards a rocky shore populated by several groups of (normal) people. I watch, not hugely afraid, as three large containers, one after another, tip over the ridge and slip and slide, skidding dangerously past me on their way. I am aware they are quite Doctor Who-ish, being modern CGI effects – that are not wholly realistic or all that effective. Even the perspective of these yellow containers, that seem to intentionally jerk and rotate to miss me, looks to be a bit 'off'. I do hear someone nearer the shore say, "f**king hell!" and wonder how they'll let that pass on a kids' television show. (I am now certain I am in an episode of Doctor Who.) Next to me is an older woman with two young children, a boy and a girl. She is casually discussing some mundane personal matter, quite unaffected by the ongoing drama-

Wohrd

I am on a strange adventure for which William Hartnell (the first Doctor Who) has been momentarily revived from his death (at which point he seems to be bent over, folded at the waist in some sort of ongoing stasis). He's dressed very much like his incarnation of Doctor Who, with a (furry?) fez, a black jacket and checked trousers. Physically he sports a white goatee beard, his hair longer and more lank than on television while facially he more resembles the actor John Hurt. However, in spite of all this Doctor Who-ish imagery it is William Hartnell – as at one point I try to impress him by mentioning an obscure film, 'The Cursed Devil', even though I am thinking of 'Shout At The Devil', wanting to ask about his experience of working with Lee Marvin*. His assistant for this “adventure” is the head of a young woman (no body or anything), her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, her face full and friendly. I converse with this head much more – at times she is perched atop a book and, towards the end, I am even aware in the slight change in the flecked grey carpet flooring of Hartnell's flat/TARDIS, assuming it allows the body of the actress to be hidden to allow her to perform her role. The exact nature of our adventure is unclear, though I do recall a sadness as Hartnell, his assistant sat on the carpet being cheerily practical as always, returns to his flat/TARDIS and thus prepares for his renewed death/stasis- 

*[In waking reality Hartnell had passed away prior to the filming of 'Shout At The Devil', nor was he ever in any way associated with a role in it.] 

Thereafter, myself and my former top floor neighbour, Cee, and another young woman – almost the assistant as a full person? - seem tasked with repairing a boiler condenser, first in Cee's flat and then in my own property (which I have very recently sold). This strange process seems to involve me weaving my way through a network of tight pipework and then – as the scene changes to a close diagrammatic cutaway through the mechanics of the repair, the joining of a pipe from the boiler to the condensing pipe – lying on my back and screwing on the necessary fitting. I do/have done this already in Cee's flat, reliving the moment in preparation for tackling my own place? I am quite confident about undertaking this task in my own flat – the three of us are crossing the street towards it – although somewhat wary of there being any potential leakage/damage when working above the ceiling (where the fault is located) prior to the handover. (Are we?) coming downstairs from Cee's flat and there is a blue liquid spilled in the stairwell. As we are walking across the street to my flat not only am I hit by a sudden weary melancholy, but also a stark realisation of that sensation as such. It is at this point that the other young woman asks me about my keys. As it's the day before the new owner takes possession I say it's fine as I popped them all through the letterbox.... I am gripped by a sudden fear – how do I get in? Didn't I drop a set to the building's Factor?, asks the young woman. I am confused. Should I see my old neighbour from across the hall (who now seems to be living above me)? I am troubled by visions of having to kick down the front door, of having to pay for the repair just as the new owner – distraught at the damage – is on the verge of moving in-

Drixhen

At the artist studio of Jimi Hendrix. He's working in a space very similar to those at my old University building, all exposed concrete structure and cold finishes. He's at the top of the stairs, the front of his unit space screened in part by a huge structural wall, and over to the right there are temporary partitions between his and the neighbouring unit. The ceiling is high and the large windows give plenty of (ideal North) light. Adding to this there is an upright collection (of something, canvasses?) covered in a grey, paint splattered sheet that provides him with further privacy. Hendrix, louche and hatted, works intently in behind all these screens. The studio, like others I have worked in, is rammed with random materials and half-finished/in progress works of art. Immediately to your left on entering, butting against the wall, is a metal storage cabinet covered in paintbrushes, stacks of cds and assorted art peripherals. Over to the right, between the upright canvasses and the partitions is a desk of some sort, also buried under a clutter of art materials. You have to squeeze past these two obstacles to see Jimi properly and enter the cramped workspace - there are small paintbrushes here, stored horizontally (presumably to dry out) and I am conscious that every time I squeeze past I am brushing against them with the back of my jacket, worried they'll fall (and potentially also start an avalanche of junk). He is listening to a cd and asks me to put on Bob Dylan-

He either asks for the specific track 'Unbreakable' or is the cd called 'The Unbreakable Bob Dylan'? I again make my way from the working space and check in the two stacks on top of the metal cabinet. There doesn't seem to be any Bob Dylan cds at all. I note that it is a (manageable) collection of his psychedelic contemporaries, that definitely includes Country Joe And The Fish. Some of the spines have 60's-ish psychedelic writing and patterns on them, too elaborate for me to read (though I kind of assume they are by Grateful Dead). Digging in deeper behind I am cheered to see a few dance/techno cd singles buried in under discarded sanding blocks or somesuch. I think I eventually take him back something and he changes the cd to whatever it is, some sort of chugging acoustic guitar music (we both know and like). Jimi talks about the piece he is working on and asks me to bring over the Rhino horn he has moulded to complete it – think in composition it's supposed to be crashing up through the floor of his painting/diorama. (There is also a painting of this horn, what looks at first like two (red) arms rising and clasping, but seems to take on a horn shape on second inspection.) I take the Rhino horn, stored as it is in a thick, semi-opaque polythene sheeting, over to him. There is a part of me that wonders if Jimi is on heroin (yet)? He tells me to take the mould and to show it to the comic artist Frank Quitely, saying something (jokingly) like, “go show that old … how he's leading me astray.” I agree to do so, edging my way carefully out of the unit and into the corridor-

As it is hollow I am wearing the Rhino horn mould on my left arm, brandishing it in the air like some strange alien limb. Worth noting it has a sort of unnatural claw-like protrusion about half way down and, as opposed to the material grey finish as it appeared in Jimi's studio, it is now covered in a brightly coloured camo-esque pattern. Being able to inspect it up close I also notice the finish looks more like Rhino skin, rough and mottled-

I am walking towards Frank Quitely and he is coming towards me. We seem to be in the same building, but in more of a cafeteria area, populated by small round tables with metal legs and a beech veneer finish. Before I am able to say a word he asks me "if I want to draw Doctor Who?" He explains something about how the comic rights are up for sale. I sit with him and our mutual artist friend Tee Cee (and one other?) at one of the tables. Frank then says something about looking at the art in the latest issue of Doctor Who as it is terrible. We talk about how we really shouldn't laugh at another artist's work and I am expecting the issue Tee Cee takes from his polythene bag to be just awful. It's actually, pretty good, a nice inky brush finish to the bold art over crisp flat colours. During this encounter I am aware of a woman and her teenage daughter at the table to our left – I recall having seen them seated earlier (somehow) and realise that they were negotiating to buy the comic rights (for 1 issue?) of Doctor Who too. I can't work out if the daughter has drawn an issue yet, nor if it is the one we are holding-

Vardso

http://headhuntersholosuite.wikia.com

Attempting to kill Doctor Who's Davros in a high building. Shooting lots of folk. Helicopter at end. As Davros took off to escape in this mini-helicopter I threw a rifle which caught the rotors, jamming the whole thing causing it to crunch as exiting the building and blow up just outside the launch corridor-