Kellmdam

I am out for lunch with my old work colleague Gee Ess – indeed, this is if if we are still in our previous employ – and 2 a.n.others (of which one is yet to arrive). We are taking them to the Village Curry House in Tradeston, Glasgow and are to be seated outside at the rear of the restaurant (a dreamescape invention). This area is made from red monoblock paving that is square-ish in shape and curved at the furthest corners, a small raised section forming a boundary with the neighbouring residential property, their outdoor space being an exact mirror of the Village's. It is around 3pm and as expected the restaurant is quiet but the outdoor seating is messy and disorganised. Our table is right at the boundary and seats six, two each side and one at each end/head. Gee sits on the left with his back to the house and the other attendee – the fourth has still not arrived – sits diagonally across to the right, facing the neighbour's. It seems to be up to me to tidy up – although a mustachioed Indian man (the manager?) shuffles furniture around – and I use a long spoon-shaped carpet sweeper to suck up crumbs, made all the more difficult by the appliance's tiny brush tip (and my spending some time trying to figure out to access it to empty the contents)-

Our starter arrives, a large plate heaped with fat spicy sausages. Around this time several people emerge from the house across the back, chatting loudly and having a few drinks. Whether it's down to our proximity to the boundary or the alcohol being consumed (or not) an argument breaks out. One of the party people is the Danish actor Mads Mikkelsen, who sports long, near-shoulder length hair, swept back, and large aviator-style glasses – I remember thinking 'he's short sighted just like me'. He is accompanied by a dumpy lady with a black bob haircut. I say to Mads, “I'm sorry we didn't mean to upset the Swedish”, and admit to Gee shortly thereafter – following Mads kicking off – that I was simply trolling him-

Later Mads is up angry in my face, frustrated that I keep responding with “Yow” and “Nay”, and asking me, “what is that?!” (being my attempt at an Icelandic 'yes' and 'no'-

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-

Yeooz

I am at (or after) the dentists and need to make another appointment. The receptionist girl at the front desk is Ay Dubya (formerly of Kelvingrove Dental Care). Although she is visually morphing within the dreamescape I know it is her and go along with her fluctuating appearance as matters progress. She advises me not to book my next appointment here as this could lead to confusion and/or a double booking, and she'll show me where to go. At this point she is unrecognisable, with a strong profile and long curly hair, a complete transformation from her actual gently pretty Zooey Deschanel-esque looks -

Cut to a sudden close-up of her (changed) face and the freckles around her cheeks and nose radiate and illuminate with genuine warmth and affection as she fixes me with a loving gaze. This then cuts to an isolated cartoon/manga-style face that floats in the air, hearts popping at the side, the eyes wide and near-bulging -

I enter a large square lift, dimly lit and semi-industrial. A few other patients linger as I work out from the notice on one side that the floor for dentistry is 'Saturday'(?). It turns out it's not a lift, the whole space suddenly pulling out into the light as part of a bus, revealing the glazing and grab handles. “Hold on!”, exclaims the chunky young woman to my right as I stagger to keep my footing and clutch at a nearby upright to steady myself while the bus races across the rainy roof(?) of this huge and amorphous hospital. I cannot help but think of the sheer weight of the vehicle as I stand and look out through the front windscreen in disbelief -

Eezul

It seems my former Hope Street Studios colleagues Bee Tee and Cee Cee have bought (the dreamescape version of) my old Glasgow flat -

I enter the flat's bathroom, which is similar in terms of (basic) fittings but not in layout – the sink is now to my left inside the door, the rough timber carcass of it's framing exposed, a pool of water – so typically Cee, I think – draining from the soppy rust coloured carpet into a hole in the floor -

I am now in Bee Tee and his wife Ell's bed/sitting room, a dim and chaotic space – it could very well be a drug addict's abode – and am hoovering using an extension hose which to my frustration keeps clogging and jamming with fluff. I am constantly checking I have not accidentally sucked up anything of value. Their bed runs along the opposite wall to that of the window, by the door, and it is there, to my surprise, I finally find some children's toys, a selection of bright yellow trucks and suchlike -

It seems I am entering the the very same room for a second time, only Ell is now reclining (on a bed/sofa?) her top pulled up so she can gently stroke her exposed stomach. “Wow! You're pregnant again!?” I say brightly. The look of sheer hurt (and self-confusion) on her face stops me in my tracks! She pulls her top down. I then see their (2 year-old?) daughter who sits up on the settee. All I can say is, “Oh!” Anything else that springs to mind – praise, shock, reassurance – simply clogs and stalls in the thought process. Their daughter has a huge head the size of a football. It takes all my mental capacity to register and process this as her head swivels (not turns!) on its neck towards me to reveal a curious and ugly face. It looks like her skin/features are sculpted in some sort of crude 80s FX/animatronic stop-motion style, even more so when, in response to my pulling funny faces, she contorts her sparse features into grotesque caricatures, her thin lips curling over perfectly arranged small teeth, her eyes popping and bugging as she widens them mischievously, everything rippling and shimmering as she does so. I am speechless, haunted -

I make my excuse to leave, meeting Bee (and avoiding Cee?) in the hallway as I do so, rescuing his keys from the outside of the front door as I go. He thanks me, somewhat fuzzily confessing to doing it all the time (as I do too) -

Outside in the communal hallway I am taken by how busy it is, students coming and going to the flat upstairs -

Deetlo

ArchDaily | Broadcasting Architecture Worldwide

I am at (another dreamescape approximation of) my old Ferry Road flat.... only it's a sturdy angular house with Art Deco stylings set in a large overgrown plot. The windows are absolutely shot, the rubber seals are limp and hanging off and when you close them over you can shift the pane in its hinges so much so you can see outside around the edges. A (shifty) builder type reassures me he can repair all this for free (as he's doing decoration works for £500)-

The Lawrence Hall of Science – The public science center of the University of California, Berkeley.

I am trying to scoop a beetle up from the (rough, woodland) internal floor and out one of the failing windows. I see a much larger armoured beetle part buried in the soil and nudge it with my shoe to see if it is alive. It certainly is and it vibrates and shifts angrily. I beat a retreat and on my way back(?) to the house I see a tiny badger, the first I've ever seen in my life. I then see a huge shaggy golden bear standing up on its hind legs. Aware of two other (vague) predators converging on me I race away from the house, dodging between the animals and heading for a forest. I race towards a fence but doubt I can scale it. Off to my left there seems to be some sort of elevated concrete stairway (to a car park?) and I implore my old Secondary school friend Pee Dee to help me up through the yellow tubular metal railings. He does(n't) succeed and I am aware of a huge, roaring pressure on the sides of my head – his grip or the bear's?-

I am talking to a girl from my old Kelburn Primary School (Ell Ay Dee?) and it seems she and three others, including my early crush Jay Eff, all died in a hovercraft accident. We guess this means I am dead too. With nothing else for it I pair off with Jay, commencing my stilted chat up – I am now outside the scene watching the both of us – with, "it's very cold isn't it....”-

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-

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...”-

Einaeybab

I am back in (a dreamescape approximation of) the front living room of my old Glasgow/Ferry Road flat. I am over by the bay window, finished in brown timber, a wooden dining table and (4) chairs tucked neatly into the tight space. I am attempting to prevent small Beanie Baby-alike animals from getting into the flat (although latterly I am plucking them from in amongst the legs and struts of the dining table chairs). The animals are slightly abstract in appearance but are definitely alive, walking upright, shuffling slowly (and a little mischeviously and sinisterly) in a vague, stop-motion animation manner-

As things progress my playful attempts at carelessly tossing them from the floor and up on to the window cill prove (accidentally) fatal and I kill/murder a small pig in this way, holding it regretfully in my hands as its little life winks out. Finally I seem to do the same to one (of two) little old ladies, again small and slightly abstract in appearance, watching as her inner light fades and she dies in (and by) my hands-

Purtidd

I am at (the dreamescape approximation of) my office work. My old secondary school maths teacher Mr. Marshall appears to be presiding over proceedings. I am due to take my 15 minutes morning tea break but don't leave my seat until 10:20 – I should be back by 10:30! - to run over to Missing Records. I'm cutting it fine and jog on over in the rain, hoping to grab a quick browse before heading back-

I enter the shop to find it is long and snaking (more akin to the original Glasgow Oswald Street Missing shop than anything else). Immediately on entering there is a rack with Bollywood Films ahead of me – one is titled 'Zin' – with a rack of discounted 7” singles on my right. Beyond this is the shop counter, further up on the left, and what appears to be (of most interest to me) the 'items just in' rack to the right of that. As I begin to move forward one of the (familiar) staff says, “alright?”, and ushers me over to the counter and an unfamiliar lady (who nonetheless acts very familiar). She has some promo DVDs of a Japanese Samurai movie, some obscure kung-fu slasher re-release, one of several copies the shop are handing out to loyal customers. I take it out of the paper sleeve, already thinking I'll never be able to make the time to watch it, but instead say that I will view it over the weekend and bring it back next week. The lady says it is no problem and that it is mine to keep. She labours the point and, unable to get away, I bump into Gee Bee from my work. I say to the lady I'll give the DVD to Gee Bee to watch next and this somehow seems to create a stink, the vibe between the three of us, Gee Bee and the lady especially, turning quite sour and awkward, almost insulting. We then seem to get caught up in a weird group hug (from which I'm anxious to excuse myself, mindful that I must now be quite late back for work)-

As I race across the road – it's 10:38 – a guy shouts me back. I must have dropped my rail pass and a single passport photo as I jogged to Missing Records and they've been languishing in the wet for near 10 minutes. I thank the guy profusely, thinking to myself that this is turning into a sh*t day, and stuff them back in my (unzipped) pocket. I figure I might make it to work not too late – Gee Bee is often late and no one seems to bother about that. The problem is-

I am lost! I cannot seem to find my bearings at all and am sure that in all my frantic and muddled running I have completely overshot the office building. I stop outside an old red sandstone building. It is now gently sunny. A burly Arabic man and his young son are climbing up the face of this building (in an attempt, I assume, to get their bearings too). Thinking this a a sound course of action I proceed to do the same. I climb up to what is the first floor (although it feels MUCH higher) and walk along a ledge to my right. From the vantage of where the building turns the corner I can see my (modern) office (architectural monstrosity) looming over its surroundings in the near distance-

Naturally my descent proves far harder than my ascent. For one thing the Arab and his son have vanished (around the corner?) and the face of the building has grown much more narrow – I cling desperately to each and every available handhold, gingerly probing with my feet for a steadying support to safely assist my way. Timber window frames splinter and loosen in my grip and the stonework is similarly weak, crumbling the moment after I assume a firm handhold. In this slow, and somewhat terrifying, manner I make little speedy progress. At one point, peering into a stone corner a realise that an eye, a yellowed, ancient eye, is staring back out at me. I completely fail to register it at first then, looking again, I become quite transfixed, totally hypnotized... After staring into this unblinking orb for a very long time I utter a strained, “thank you”, and continue on my way-

Back on the ground at last I am more or less immediately surrounded by a gaggle of my work colleagues, a frantic 'search party' sent out to find me after my failure to return. Arr EmmCeePee makes some remark about drugs as I gush my way through a recollection of my experience with the staring eye up on the building-

Roferrady

I am back at my old Ferry Road flat in Glasgow – in a sense it's a more spacious, unfamiliar dreamescape version. My little brother is also present and we are both horrified as the walls are all damp and bubbled - “Dad destroyed the flat”, he says. The place is unfurnished. I think the concern is it was cleared for sale and it is now ruined. It seems our father applied something to the surface of the walls that has soaked up all the moisture and then, the internal insulation totally saturated, poured it out again. I duck away from the corner in the hall, a fly/wasp buzzing at a particularly gnarly looking corner of balled damp by the ceiling-

I enter (an approximation of) my old back bedroom and notice the window is open, that the window has been left open and it is seemingly impossible to lock it partially open-

Donbortruson

I am out with my family. We are in (a dreamescape) Glasgow formed of wide, piecemeal tarmacked streets and sturdy red brick constructs – very industrial workers' town. There is no one about and no traffic/parked cars which only adds to the desolate, post-industrial vibe. I am clutching a William Boyd black and red paperback book, a bookmark to the outside. We go into a discount (book) shop and through the back they are just putting out a selection of new hardbacks. Lying on the table I spot Jodi Picoult's new novel – her second, the dreamescape believing her to have written a single, weighty debut. The book has a black dust jacket crammed with complimentary(-ish) quotes printed in a variety of colourful texts and fonts.

Music | Capitol K (bandcamp.com)

Piled near this is a book by/about the underground musician Capitol K. it has a muddy, somewhat confusing cover (and a distinctly off-putting £30 price tag!) with a quote that compares him to Star Trek(?) at the foot-

We go back outside where it is beginning to rain. I stuff my Boyd book up inside my jacket to stop it getting wet. We come to a wide undulating bridge with towering red brick walls to either side. It seems to have four 'lanes' (for traffic) although only one of these is open. I feel safe enough to ignore my Mother's warning to watch for traffic. On the other side of the dividing water lies a large rotting object. As we get closer I realise it is a duplicate of the Statue of Liberty, rusting away-

We now 'dreamjump' to the actual Statue of Liberty where the media is watching Donald Trump (who actually looks more like Boris Johnson) inspect a repair job on a similarly rusted and weathered surface. To the surprise of the assembled journalists Trump/Boris leaps nimbly from his inspection route for an impromptu run about the surface of the statue – how he does not plunge to his death is a mystery! There is also a “lucky escape” for a buxom woman who emerges from a doorway and launches herself off a platform and simply (and fortunately) 'flomps!' onto a surface not too far below. I seem to see this incident replay just as per the news coverage. Initially the (curly haired) woman is totally nude, protecting her 'modesties' with her forearm and hand. In subsequent replays, taken from a different camera angle, she can be heard referring to the television network as a “terrorist organisation” - she is partially clad in a wedding dress with her handsome bosom exposed. At one point I even think she looks pregnant-

Fruntallan

Concrete structure with narrow supporting uprights – no windows so instead open from about 1m to 2.5m in height, running in a continuous strip. In the basement of this structure is Missing Records and one of the staff, to my surprise, is launching his band's new CD. I explore the shop's racks and congratulate him (on the CD) on my way out. On going back up and outside it seems to me that the structure is covered in much more graffiti than I recall – a phrase 'NO - -' is daubed on the floor. I go around to my right and walk a bit then take another right and I end up in a basic bar/cafe, all tubular steel tables and colourful, but basic, chairs. I meet my late friend Jay Emm and as we are chatting I am troubled as to whether I should tell him that I know he's going to pass away soon-

Jostom

www.tripadvisor.co.uk

I am buying a (Glasgow) city centre flat with my ex-work colleague Jay Tee. It is a top floor property located in a tenement block in Buchanan Street. (Stuff, water tank on roof will collapse on to us? Fear.) We eventually buy near St Enoch's Square instead. This is in a large complex with an internal atrium. It is very loud and you can constantly hear folk chatting away as well as the crash of empty bottles as the ground floor pub empties their recycling bins. The flat has a balcony and I am terrified – I am crawling in terror along the floor acutely aware of the relaxed social environment around me. The flat has three rooms that all face on to this balcony, their ceilings sloping downward towards a low glass upstand (that evidently serves as the railing)-

Does my little brother buy a flat too, only he purchases one in Buchanan Street? What about his cat?