Onkai

I am going out to meet my friend Vee Dee and several others for something to eat. The streets I am walking down are very reminiscent of my childhood hometown of Largs, that sort of leafy, seaside suburban feel. I meet Cee Cee, a former associate, and I am instantly annoyed and on the defensive. Rather than simply telling him to "piss off!" (as I dearly want to but am too (im)polite to) I am deliberately rude and evasive. At one point I consider telling him to ask Dee(?) why I don't like him – that's put her in the sh*t. He innocently tags along just as I expected him to. I behave more and more rudely towards him, giving him terse and blunt answers to his tedious and relentless questions-

I try try to send a text (on my archaic Nokia phone handset) but Cee Cee simply uses his own crappy silver Nokia handset to phone me, thereby disrupting my texting. This gets me really annoyed (though in a way I am impressed by his inventiveness). I swipe his phone from his hands and (fake) throw it away, quickly hiding it about my person. We square up as if to fight. This moment is interrupted as suddenly Cee has to take care of several tall metal window shutters, about a foot wide each and 6 feet or so tall. They are up off the ground and the last one has partially come off its hinges. I seem to make peace with him as I help him out, clambering up the side of the building and putting the shutter back on its (horizontal?) hinges with skill-

Embtolm

https://bookpalace.com/acatalog/Illustrators-Quarterly.html

I am at an exhibition. A small, neat man with glasses travels from left to right, crossing the room, passing several freestanding square display cases. He looks at me over the top of his glasses and remarks, “Ron Embleton, oh yes!” I am thinking Ron is 84(?) and that I have just cut his pages from my 1954 BEANO annual (with Dennis and Gnasher on the cover)-

aquariva.co.uk/

I am with my friend Tee Cee, two young British Asian boys (aged 8-ish) and two teenage boys (who I know are drummers). We are taking a Virgin branded helicopter down to Birmingham, a 2 hour trip, to visit Ron Embleton. The helicopter takes off along the street. I am belted in as it is my first time ever riding in a helicopter. The POV is from behind the pilot looking straight ahead. I am surprised how low we are flying, that the rotor blades are not clipping the trees to the side or snagging telephone wires and so on. It makes for a tense journey. The helicopter is very spacious inside and there is a polite hostess, who is very much like Kenny Everett's sidekick Cleo Rocos. It's very much like an old fashioned, classic hotel with ornately (and somewhat garish) carpets and stylish timber furniture. Is fellow cartoonist Kay Ess here too? The hostess lies (clothed!) on a large bed. All of us sit around and chat-

We arrive and land in Birmingham and walk to Ron's house. The two drummers, after some deliberation, decide to come along as there's enough time before their rehearsal/gig. (The dreamescape) Ron is old and balding (and quite stoned!). He takes something of a shine to me and often addresses me direct (with something of a knowing tone). At one point he says to me, in mock confidentiality, that Tee has never met a drug addict before... before quickly quipping that it's just the neighbours-

https://www.garnelenhaus.com

Everything Ron says is quite funny and good-natured but also something of an in-joke with his (present) daughter. At one point he tumbles about on the couch, rolling onto the floor, having bags of fun. Kay Ess starts to doze and – oh no! - there's a giant Allan Key suspended above his head! The living room we are in ajoins the kitchen and the rest of Ron's family, who all seem to be sleepy blondes with dazed, slightly amused expressions sit there. Wife? My phone clock displays '13:30' but it's actually '16:30'... but it's actually '18:00' on the dot! Time to go home. Ron gives Tee Cee a painting before we leave-

Hwollt

https://www.rottentomatoes.com/celebrity/jude_law

I am working in an office in a large room with a high ceiling. I am sharing this room with 3 colleagues. I sit on the left, my table facing into the room. Directly across from me my boss (a soft spoken Jude Law/Matt Goss-alike) sits, his desk facing mine. To my left is another table adjoining mine and the same goes for my boss. The desk to his right is made of thick wood that has been rounded and finished to a very high and attractive standard. (In spite of this visual and build quality every desk is cluttered with PCs and paperwork. Even the floor in at our feet is a muddle of boxes and files.) I seem to covet the nice desk that is diagonally opposite to me, perhaps as beyond that the setting suggests the room opens out into a bright glazed space-

www.bt.com/tv/entertainment/

I am now back at work 2 weeks after having lost my job(?). I am delighted, in spite of all the clutter, to be seated at the much coveted far desk on the right (also due to the fact I am now seated across from a pretty Vicki Pattison-alike woman – I cannot recall too much about her, just her long, styled black hair, parted in the middle). I am struggling to establish some sort of order in my workspace as well as trying to fend off questions about my absence/sudden return. I simply state, half-joking-half-deadly serious, that it is “top secret” and that people should be asking my boss(es) and not me. Do I direct a hapless Ben Wishaw-alike to a black metal posting box in at my feet under my desk?-

I am walking with my boss and (still indoors?) we pass a great scene on our left. A high slightly weathered wall, made of huge rounded chunks of stone, has been partially taken down to reveal a stylish columned stone building in behind. I remark on the wonderful quality of this newly revealed elevation and my boss agrees. I ask him where we actually are and he mentions a country called something like “Noin”, going on to explain that it is very small (once occupied?) and is bordered by something like 47-50 other countries-

Johjulnice

"What is all this John Nice and Julie Nice? What is all this John Nice and Julie Nice? What is all this John Nice and Julie Nice? WHAT IS ALL THIS JOHN NICE AND JULIE NICE!?"

Nechyl

I am at a The Charlatans concert in the Glasgow Barrowland Ballroom. (Again, as ever, the dreamescape version bears no relation the reality aside from the pervading sensation of being the exact place.) I am surprised at the size of the crowd, counting in the region of 10-20 people, marvelling that the band could previously sell out 3 (full capacity) nights in a row. Towards the end of the gig everyone lines up to participate in a sort of ad hoc conga (around some sort of central sound desk construct in the middle of the venue's dancefloor). I am very careful not to stand in any dog dirt that has been trampled into the grass(?). When the gig is finally finished it seems as if that is well and truly it for the venue, that it will be closing forever, the cloakroom on 'lockdown' unless you pay (considerable) money to retrieve your belongings-

I am outside in a market space and spot my old student friend Dubya Arr walking near me. He sports long, greying hair and wears a faded t-shirt and denims, clomping and stomping along comically as we both jokingly pretend not to recognise/acknowledge one another. We eventually stop to talk and I tell him I was at a Canyon (a Canadian alt-country band he and I both like) concert. I shy away from the reality it was in fact The Charlatans, worried that mentioning them will damage my credibility – a decision itself that then plagues me as I toil with considering telling the actual truth. Dubya seems to be helping an old man his dried squid stall and we examine several of his wares, each bisected perfectly down the centre and dried so that the skin has a cooked, cold pasta-like constituency-

Wlooduu

I am with my (old school) friend Aye Dubya. I have a wig (of sorts) that is styled in a similar fashion to, say, SIA's hair. The wig itself is made from the same stringy-ish material as a mop and looks very similar in appearance as a result. This “hair" is rooted back into a black plastic skullcap which has an (upside down) 'V' shape cut into the front centre, presumably to incorporate the bridge of the nose (although, of course, this would mean the wearer would have it pretty much down over their eyes). I actually tilt my head back as such to achieve this. To add to my appearance I put on a bull snout(?) mask and wear a set of oversized false teeth too, jammed in below, all the while trying not to choke on them. With this confused disguise (just about!) perched in place I exclaim to Aye, “This is gonnae f**k yeez up!”-

Tabro

I am part watching/part immersed in a screening of the film Borat (only the experience is quite unlike the actual version, this being the 'dreamescape' take). Borat himself is singing a terrible, insulting rendition of a national anthem, offending a huge (Iranian/Afghani?) crowd as he does so. Cue countless angered and disgusted reaction shots, people scoffing and rolling their eyes. One particular shot of a judge (Judy-esque woman) shows her mouthing at a(nother) court official, who mouths, “I only deal with wh*res” by way of a (helpless) reply. Immersed as I am in all this chaos I cannot think anything other than that Bruno was the better film-

I am in a coffee shop that is comprised of two square-ish rooms, one of which can only be entered via the other. I am in the first (main) room and a young lad leaves our table to go through the (open) doorway into the second room. (Is there supposed to be some open mic/entertainment there later?) A girl sitting to my left – I am sitting with my back to the window – says something about the recently departed lad being quite funny. Someone then makes a remark that I look like a comedian. I respond by saying that I used to be a comedian! Cue surprised gasps and exclamations-

https://swg3.tv

Now walking along a stony shoreline path-cum-track with my friend Jay Emm. The sea is to our left and (just) visible in the misty distance is a building, the shoreline curving round to it. I am annoyed as the building is the Glasgow music/arts venue SWG3 and I spit, “Shhh*teWG3!” and thereafter continue to lambast it as an awful concert venue. Jay Emm and I then talk about the excellent(?) Low gig(?) that we saw there-

A flesh organise a-nother-