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-

Holempersa

I am watching/immersed in the 'dreamescape' version of the 1970's television adaptation of Salem's Lot. This version stars David Soul and Dennis Hopper and starts with them being confronted by a primitive ape man of sorts. This intelligent looking fellow has a long aquiline nose, not unlike the proboscis monkey, and a fan shape of streaked sandy hair that is styled regularly on the top of his head and the sides of his face. Using some sort of spear/tool he sends both David and Dennis spilling over the edge of an incline in a cloud of dust (thus trapping and condemning them in the land of the vampires)-

Later on I recall a scene set in broad daylight, events unfolding on green meadows around a typical American timber farmhouse. In spite of my anticipation I am not scared of the vampires at all, in this case their leader, a sharp-suited fellow in his 60's with handsome features and grey hair. Someone spears him with a sword and, after an initial suggestion he is hurt, the old fellow bounces back, amused-

Cilernuh

The actress Tia Carrere (of the show Relic Hunter) is willing to pay 5 million pounds if my son (aged 3) will hunt her down (with a gun?) and try to kill her. I explain he's too young but ask about another wee boy (aged 6?) who is expressing an interest. Perhaps I could broker a deal for a 20% share, a cool 1 million-

Lavinia-

Mottob

It seems I have booked in on a coach trip to see The Charlatans play a concert in Dublin (and the gig has finally been rescheduled due to the Coronavirus pandemic). As luck would have it I discover, after some initial confusion, that The Orb are playing later the very same night. So, assuming both gigs are still going ahead, I'm hoping to not only catch both concerts but also to see my old friend Dee Bee-

Unbeknownst to Dee Bee, myself and my old friend Arr are standing outside his (dreamescape bungalow) house, waiting by the hedge and peeking over into his front garden. Only Dee Bee's wife/partner and her pal are there, two chubby and jolly women discussing homemade sweets. “He'll like bonbons”, says Dee's partner, one of several remarks about the obvious delicacies she has made (for him)-

Within a flash (as per the dreamescape) the two women vanish to be replaced by Dee himself. We can just see his head and shoulders when suddenly he flops up and off his seat and waddles into full view, his formerly trim body ballooned into a wobbling, comical flabby ball shape. Although he doesn't acknowledge us he begins to act up, preforming little comedy trips and slides that would be quite amusing but for the fact he looks so ridiculous and bloated. “So not a good look”, remarks Arr-

I am watching Rik Mayall and Adrian Edmondson perform 'Bottom: Live', and I am both enjoying the performance and (as is my creative curse) often thinking beyond it and analysing it. At present they are being struck on the head in turn by a huge suspended wrecking ball. This happens a couple of times to each. After, as they recoil and recover, Ade/Eddie begins his next lines. It's then that blood becomes quite noticeable on Rik/Richie's right temple, a small trickle just at the hairline. The splotch gets steadily more bloody as Rik halts his performance to acknowledge it. Eddie has stopped too and the audience holds its breath. It is, of course, a cunning ruse and the pair of them turn, their faces contorted into smug, sneering 'gotchas!'. (As this has all been going on I clicked at the trick, marvelling at how Ade's behaviour must have drawn the audience attention away from Rik to allow him to place/puncture the blood bag.)-

Whitrge

I am with my work colleague Gee Bee and (also present, in part) is the actress Francis Conroy (Mrs. Fisher from the HBO television series Six Feet Under)-

To begin with a large group of children, around 8-10 years old, has gathered outside the (vague) two storey house we occupy – it is not entirely memorable and is sparsely furnished like an aged storeroom – and Gee says they are clustering there as a mother has posted on Facebook about the (mass) bullying and harassment of her son, “not a wise idea”, according to Gee Bee. It seems the mother, a sturdy looking woman, is patrolling/corralling the mob of kids and Gee and I (outside suddenly) are ducking down to avoid her (although I have no idea in what capacity we're actually involved)-

Inside the house I open a small timber bedside cabinet/cupboard and therein is the head of a Great White shark. I squirt some sort of cream (as I've been taught to do?) into the shark's mouth, aiming in and around its teeth. The persistent rhythmic gnawing ensures that this magical cream spreads over the roof of the Great White's mouth, giving a smooth pink finish that now covers the top set of teeth entirely. I then slam the timber cupboard door shut. This is not enough to stop the huge fish and the shark thumps open the flimsy door, wriggling and twitching its huge bulk into the centre of the room – the cabinet is in the far left hand corner. I beat a hasty retreat to the door (guiding Mrs. Fisher to safety at the same time?) and head upstairs to Gee Bee, who sits in a back room with a large window that overlooks the ground/garden. Now that the shark is out in the open(?) I am desperate that it should be rescued and returned to the wild. I ask Gee Bee to Google “Great White stranded rescue” and such variations, suddenly concerned that it will return stories of rescues and not someone who who will or how to rescue. To my frustration the results show up on Gee's long white t-shirt and as I scroll down (towards the groin!) I make some joke about conducting a “safe search”-

As two or three huge, cartoon-ish sea monsters surface in the garden - “this is getting a bit out of hand” - Gee Bee's next search is something like "toxic India”, returning a bunch of related news stories. I then, observing the sea monsters dipping up and down below the surface of the garden, decide to drop down and check on the Great White. There's a small boy who sports thick NHS spectacles (playing a video game) and not only am I surprised that he is safe but also that the Great White shark has vanished-

Gillcleedle

I am with Gee Bee from my work and we are making our way across a somewhat barren landscape – we seem to be on a gentle gravel incline, sloping down from a road/motorway at our backs. To get to our intended (but unknown) destination we then have to cross a vast landscape formed of giant books that are lying with their spines facing upward. It is starting to rain and I am concerned as to how the falling moisture will affect the books. The books seem to momentarily return to normal size and I race through a collapsed heap of them, noting an (auto)biography of the (BBC production of 'House of Cards') actor Ian Richardson. On the cover is a contrasted black and white image of the actor sporting a Georgian wig which has been printed on faded blue/grey paper-

I am now browsing a rack of (plastic covered, ex-library?) hardback books that all seem to be by members of Monty Python's Flying Circus (or at least Monty Python related or themed). The title lettering on each book is rendered in Terry Gilliam's stylised 'Holy Grail' lettering. As I spin this rack I pass books by Tim Piggott (a collaborator?) and Eric Idle, the latter being dismissed somewhat by Terry Gilliam (who now stands beside me). Most fascinating of all is a book tucked away to the back of the (seemingly never-ending) rack. At first I assume it to be a "novel” by both John Cleese and Emily Gilliam (Terry's dreamescape daughter). I take the book out – it has a simple line drawing of the classic desert island humped beach with a solitary palm tree on the cover – and then realise it is by John and Terry Gilliam. I am totally enthused – why have a never heard of this?! I pass it over to Terry and he seems as unaware of its existence as I am. Flicking through it he remarks that the cover was done with a crayon on a roll of paper. Quick as a flash I joke, “the whole book!”. He finds this very funny(?). I continue to joke (in the hope he'll give treasured text back to me) that, given the size of the print, it won't take me long to read it, 2-5 days, a week at most... I suggest Terry takes the book away and reads it, passing it on to me only if he deems it to be not too terrible. Gilliam giggles manically at all of this. His (dreamescape) daughter has materialised and wants him to take it (as I suspect she thinks the book is total rubbish)-

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-

Bowidero

I am sitting in an office-type environment at a desk with an old fashioned, somewhat hefty, computer monitor on it. My back is to the wall and across from me sits A. N. Other (who I feel I do know, only cannot bring them into any recognisable focus). At the desk to my right sits Robert De Niro, sporting his 2020 oversized spectacles look. He talks of waiting 12 minutes to start (I wonder 'what?' and, oddly, 'when?'). He comes over to my desk and we watch some sort of vintage 80's ITV/Jim Bowen quiz show on my computer screen- 

The seconds are ticking away as we view a gloopy pint of Guinness being poured – the large foamy head is dripping like sludge into the glass – the brown liquid against an equally muddy background. De Niro is gently caressing my left hand, all the while completely absorbed and amused by the footage. (I'm a bit bemused by both his actions and the fact that it's ??:19 on my monitor clock – wasn't it 12 minutes to :40 or what?)-

Duzzkhard

https://thedukesofhazzard.fandom.com/wiki/Boss_Hogg

I am with Boss Hogg from The Dukes of Hazzard television show. (I may be the character Bo, but I'm not sure.) I seem to be in this episode as well as watching it – a glitch of the dreamescape – and it feels like I've seen, if not dreamed, all this before. We are on the shore of a beach (Largs?) with a tarmac path to our left and the beach/shallows immediately to our right. Boss Hogg is walking on the surface of the clear, still seawater, puzzled by the unusual foam-like substance that lurks just under the surface (and which is evidently substantial enough to support his portly frame). We reach the edge of this strange underwater material – and it is at this point that I'm quite sure I've seen this episode before as I know the material is oil that has solidified and can be taken up and torn with one's bare hands... and that Boss Hogg will fall through it at some point, huffing and puffing to great comedic effect-

Stuzdio

I am with a former Art Studios tenant Dee Zee and the actor David (Stranger Things) Harbour. There has been some sort of demonic trade. Dee has deep red skin and two v*ginas, back-to-back, that she shows us. Her an*s has consequently moved up her back to between her shoulder blades. She does a sh*t to demonstrate. David Harbour has a huge p*nis and his an*s has also relocated up his back-

I am walking with a young Latino boy of about 10 years of age. He has a bad leg and is supported by myself as we go, his little brother holding my left hand as we make tentative, unsteady progress-

Ghillham

https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0929673/

Grange Hill. Mr Griffiths the janitor. We are in an 8-sided, lantern-esque-shaped elevator with alternate black wrought metal in an ornate-plain-open configuration. The roof or covering above us has been shorn like an open tin and we hang, an ever-changing number of anxious occupants, by this dwindling metal thread-

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-

Tonstlipp

I take a single, small headphone speaker and put it in my mouth and, in spite of the expectation of crunching on lots of electronic components, I find eating it to be much the same as munching on a Skittle-

I am rehearsing (out loud) Monty Python's 'Dead Parrot Sketch', lingering over the opening lines, a variation (incorrect, of course) on John Cleese beginning with “Good afternoon” and Michael Palin countering with an amiable “Good morning”, the comedy (somehow) taking off from there. I have a landscape format poster showing a black ink reproduction of a photograph on a deep blue background, the names “Cleese” and “Palin” in the top corners, left and right respectively, a thick black band running across the bottom. I am practically rehearsing into this artifact. I seem to be in a sort of glazed shopfront and I watch a lady walk past on the other side of the road quickly followed by a young Michael Palin who scuttles after her (his wife?) in the semi-darkness. I am disappointed to see him pass by as I continue with my theatrical run-through, wishing he had noticed/heard me. I am delighted when he does indeed come over only a few moments later, adopting an impoverished pose outside the shop, the poster propped at his back. He is soon joined by Eric Idle – does the poster change to “Cleese” and “Idle”? - and the pair of them sit dejected, hunched there on the pavement. I make some joke about “will perform the Parrot Sketch for food” which we all find very amusing-

I have decided I must take a photo of the poster (complete with an overlay of white writing) to send to my friend Ayy Ess – I have to attest to the fact that I am with Palin and Idle. Unfortunately I cannot get sufficient light to do this and I adopt a strange, knock-kneed, zombie-esque shamble as I walk over to the tall rear window. I manage to avoid the numerous empty plastic bottles, each with a baby bottle (sterilising?) inside, but cannot help but bump into two tall, hollow, metal canisters, sending them clattering to the floor. Michael Palin suddenly beats me to the far wall and draws up the roller blind at the large window, flooding the space with light-

Turvat

I have been out working (outside?) with Daniel (from the cult Icelandic situation comedy Naeturvaktin) and a crew of people. I feel suspicious of them, and am somewhat paranoid that they are out to get me and am thus wary of the following day - Daniel has stated it will be long and that I should bring "two beers" with me. As such I find myself in a supermarket (with fellow sitcom character Olafur?) and we are wandering around the tightly packed shelves looking for specific stuff. I am quite keen that I do not bump into anyone from the work crew, my sense of paranoia (of them making fun of me or disliking me) at an extreme. I am looking for a 4-pack of Milky Bar yoghurt desserts. I think I have found some - I am being directed in my hunt by what seems a mash of Olafur and Kay Haitch, my young nephew - but these are in fact individual pots. I am inspecting what certainly seems to be some variant of a Milky Bar product when I realise that I am in amongst the 'Stock Pots' section, and that all the surrounding items contain a thick brown liquid and these are evidently for stewing-

Filzocosie

I am watching an episode of the American sit-com Seinfeld. The character George Costanza, in a light shirt and braces, is sitting at a table/desk facing the 'camera'. To his left sits (someone who I instinctively know is the actress) Elizabeth Perkins, the back of her curly haired head about 2/3 in shot and in slightly soft focus, being near to the lens-

I am joining the action mid-sentence - something of a hangover from the previous (lost) dream about my little brother staying in my old flat? - and George exclaims, "-and I'm going to f*cking lose my first f*cking job!". Elizabeth scolds him for swearing like this. There is a strange, barely detectable jump cut here, and I seem aware that I am now looking at the back of Jerry Seinfeld's head. There seems to be another jump cut, close in - Seinfeld is now weeping and clutches at (what I eventually realise is) George's exposed left breast-

George is now topless, with fabric epaulette's on his shoulders, and Jerry, thoroughly milking the comic moment, proceeds to pull on his breast like a towel, stretching out lengths of it as he dries his eyes/comforts himself. (I realise the epaulettes are likely present to allow for the FX of drawing out this long, fake breast.) At one point a length of the rubbery flesh appears spattered with tomato sauce and cheese, the audience groaning in mock disgust. (I am quite sure as this scene unfolds that it is to infer that George has stored a slice of pizza under there, also acknowledging that it's the wrong side up for that too, but...) Then a further jump cut as Seinfeld is concerned with the right epaulette which, fixed at the side of George's neck seems to be scratching at his skin on the right, arching back and forth as it does so, some small black tab scraping at the skin and threatening to infect him with-

Zatzyl

I am with my friend Aye Dubya. The environment is unclear, but it is bright and fresh, I guess a family living room - I am conscious of his father sitting in a comfy armchair to our left - but no other details spring to mind, the dream being quite focussed. Aye's mother, looking as she did many years ago, comes to join us. She is dressed in a red billowy top, tied at the waist, that hangs down to above her knees. She wears light grey, slightly loose trousers under this. She sits cross-legged on the floor directly in front of Aye's father. She is chatty and amused, wondering how we missed the news, brandishing her phone to show us something- 

It is Denzl Washington. He is standing with an acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder, wearing nothing but tight Speedos, his hair long-ish and unkempt, a great wild bushy beard sprouting from his chin. He seems to be quite stoned, unaware of his (domestic) surroundings, gently ambling on the spot, his mind evidently otherwise occupied. There seems to be someone lying on the floor of the room he's in. Aye's mother mentions Prins (?), a female who is also part of this (sexual) scandal. It seems two other people were also involved. Aye and myself (to our own amusement), practically as one voice comment on how Denzl seems to be going through the motions, that he has no idea what's going on and that he just happens to be there. There's an additional flash of the Denzl scene, one where there are several more musicians sporting guitars gathered in the same room- 

There follows a very brief clip of the cartoon character Taz who seems to be restrained in a chair in a large laboratory. Suddenly a large, suggestive sausage shape bulges out from under his chin, curving down over his belly. That is all there is of the clip and Aye Dubya and I discuss how and why it was banned. Taz then, as we are treated to the whole scene, seems to shit a large acorn, beginning with the cupule - which is a gentle, Starburst purple colour - followed by the shell (and plenty of cartoony splashes and drips) which matches the colour of his creamy shirtfront- 

The main boy from 13 Reasons Why is living in a top floor space, accessed via a steep staircase. He is wearing glasses and seems to be knocking people senseless and killing them. The atmosphere is very tense and I seem frightened into silence by events, struggling to articulate. 4 guys turn up with polythene bags of photos, and they seem to be discussing how they had a deal that he'd make some books up from these as agreed- 

https://www.orbmag.com

I am talking to someone - who admittedly looks a little like Thomas Fehlmann - as we listen to The Orb's 'No Sounds Are Out Of Bounds' album. He wonders who the music is by, remarking that it really is very good. I am particularly enthused, and begin praising the final 3 tracks, noting how they almost form a piece, both of us agreeing how they seem to recall a particular period/style of Berlin techno-

Massagma

In a large school-like assembly hall. I am there, as are both my brothers and my friend Enn Bee and his wife Eev Bee. It seems everyone has been allocated somewhere to sit aside from myself. The stage/presentation area is to the front and is about 4 metres wide and curtained off to about 2 metres above the floor level, screening it from the seated. My brothers have a seat each in the rows nearer to it. They are arguing and I recall one skidding a pen along the floor in disgust to the other. I end up taking a seat in the row next to Enn Bee, though I am aware my little brother is not present in the row in front, and hope that everyone will just shift over a little in order to squeeze me in-

Now at a different awards ceremony. It feels like it has Oscar prestige and press attention, but the setting is much lower-key, the hall smaller and more intimate. Bam Margera (from Jackass) is on stage accepting an award. He is peppering his acceptance speech with swearing, much to everyone's collective (but somewhat anticipated) dismay. At one point he is talking back and forth with his mother in the audience – she's a kind of blonde, biker mom – and she shocks all by swearing in return-

Now outside, looking at a wide shot of a back alley. A plain concrete surface – on a slight incline? - meets a similarly plain concrete wall on the left. Against this wall is a large commercial rubbish bin. Surrounding this, occupying about half of the viewpoint, is a huge pile of... Is it pizzas, discarded following the awards afterparty, or a giant mound of sick? All I can clearly ascertain is this great yellowy-burnt-browny heap with a sort of fatty separated liquid pooling at its perimeter. I think there's someone lying on top of the heap by the bin. This scene elicits a collective “UGH!” from the invisible onlookers. Bam approaches from the right and attempts to scale this mound and suddenly, when he's about half way across, he simply disappears, swallowed beneath the surface of this mush. He eventually wrestles himself from the mush at the edge and staggers, coughing and sputtering, from the hold of the “matter”. It's as if the watching collective has drawn breath, waiting to see if he'll be sick, which will then determine the outcome of their own ultimate reaction-

Cententee

I am with my little brother and my friend Bee Tee. The weather is bright and sunny and we are in a grassy area, kicking about near a distinct, worn vehicle track. A strange, small, bubble covered sort of creature trots past at one point, emerging from the long grass onto the path. It's a little like a lamb, but with a much longer neck and no discernible head - it just simply rounds off at the end. It's primarily blue in colour with flecks of red. The next time I see a similar creature it is physically the same only it has the fur and colouring of a tiger. Its face is much more cute, the round, innocent eyes almost on the top of the head/neck. I ask my brother and Bee if they want another drink - has Bee Tee just drunk a tiger animal? - and I am asked for a lemonade and to "get us another one of those (tiger animal drinks)"-

I'm now on a beach and looking up high towards a shore structure with railings. People are milling about there. I sense a girl there looking down, watching me. It's a vague, indistinct sensation. I struggle to remember what my brother asked for to drink. I am walkig up on the promenade/street level, the beach far below. I recall going into a few counter/cafe places to be told by the staff they have no scones and jam - I think the hot weather and crowds means they have all sold out. One particular counter is staffed by the actor David Tennant and he makes a (sore) point of clearly articulating they have no scones and jam-

In a queue at a counter. The guy ahead of me is paying for his order. I see a tiger animal trotting about the floor behind - good as I know I can buy them here. There's a family of four behind me - a mother, father and two early teen boys - and I am sure they are after scones, but have not heard the announcement. One of the sons tries to queue-jump and I forcibly pull him back into line. Somehow at this point a bald guy infiltrates the front of the queue and manages to get the £5.05 change due to the other guy. I cannot accept this blatant theft and, with my fingers pointing, I tap both the customer and the thief on the top of their respective bald heads - the customer had hair when ordering - and voice my displeasure and say he did it. Does the cafe owner have a £3 million Lottery ticket...?-

I decide to walk back to the beach by another route. At the start of this stands the girl who I was watching from the beach. She is standing by the railings with another guy. She is again looking at me. She seems quite fixed in my mind but I still skip by quickly, aware but wary and without really registering her (familiar) face. I follow two old ladies down a sloped walkway with a built up wall to the sea side. Everything here is covered in a browny stone render. About half way down this walkway it takes a sharp turn to the right only about 3-4 metres is missing. There's no way to continue. I look down at the blue water. You can see the bottom and I think about the frightening possibility of a Great White Shark swimming there. I follow the old ladies back up to the street. Somehow the walkway has changed - it's almost a single brick wide with a single brick upstand at points - and the journey is fraught with danger. The old ladies, one of whom has a walking stick, struggle to cope-

John Cena has a post on Facebook with 23,000 likes. He needs 2 million people to log in and all scream at once. This is for the websites www.data. com(?) and www.deletemusic. com(?)-

Beotobea

3 or 4 of us going to see The Bootleg Beatles at a sort of Wetherspoons type pub place. Myself, Kay Emm andmy friend Dee Bee(?) and...? There are 2 staff on the door and the guy who speaks to me looks a bit like a young John McVie of Fleetwood Mac. He's chatty and smiling. We go up the steps and enter through a set of glazed timber double doors. It's a fairly generic pub inside and approaching the bar there's a small stage, raised by a single step, squeezed in the right hand corner - it's carpeted just the same as the floor and a few mike stands can be seen on it. I think the band are on in 15 minutes. I suddenly think to ask Kay Emm if she wants some earplugs. I can go to my (old?) workplace as I have lots of them there. I can picture bags and bags of them. I'm worried the office will be locked so leave quickly-

It is practically right next door and within seconds I'm going up a tight, winding staircase. I meet Eee (?) and my friend Dee Emm coming down the stairs. It's ages since I've seen them and we are happy to see each other. I say hello, ask how they are and if the office is locked for the night. Dee Emm says it is but that she will go back up the stairs with me and let me in. On the landing at the office - Dee Emm has gone - the storm doors are open, the door behind is open and the office is bustling. I can hear the chatty voices from outside. I go in and it is busy. Lots of young, smartly dressed people standing about talking. Lots of bustle. In a rush I kind of push my way through. There's a young girl standing facing me - she looks a little like Millie Bobby Brown from Stranger Things - and I say "excuse me", planting my hands firmly on her shoulders and guiding her to the right to let me pass. The second I do this I realise it could be deemed as inappropriate (and obviously) unwanted contact. Panicking somewhat I make a point of doing the same thing to a young guy also standing in my way. I again place my hands firmly on his shoulders - though he has his back to me - and shuffle him to the side to pass, hoping this will compensate-

I enter my old room and approach a tall cupboard with a narrow double door set. It seems to be angled, as if it had been built for a corner location - but it stands somewhere in the middle. I then see myself - though I look nothing like myself - opening the cupboard to look. This is composed like a movie, the contents are unseen while my reaction is everything. There are no plugs? I say it's full of guns. A row of shining, polished silver guns. I ask who this cupboard belongs to. Gee Dee says that it is Ian's. Wow! I ask what he is like, does he live alone? Gee says he is overweight and we agree he fits the profile (of a would-be killer). I want to know if he lives with his parents, my thinking being they will help ground him and balance out his unpleasant urges. Do I then take some earplugs? As I leave I have a very awkward, apologetic conversation with the young girl. She is visibly embarrassed - bizarrely she seems to colour so much I think suddenly she is British Asian(?) for a moment - as I ramble on about my inappropriate behaviour in putting my hands on her shoulders-

I head down the stairs and out. Seems most of the office is trooping in that direction and I am worried if we turn up en masse then we will not be allowed entry to the gig - ideally we should stagger our arrival to avoid this. I am conscious of my wearing a striped shirt and a jacket on top. I have a kids' sticker/activity book hidden up my shirt. When we emerge into the day it is lightly raining and I have to really focus to zip up my jacket. The sticker book slips down and I take it out, presenting it to the friendly guy on the door. He's right into it. I ask him if he has kids and he says he does not. Flicking through it he says he'll get to it in his spare time-

I go into the pub. It seems much bigger inside now - The Bootleg Beatles can be seen through the windows, playing to the left of the doors, their backs to us - and there are plenty stylish girls in op art dresses dancing and grooving. There are less tables and seats, and those there are of the taller, semi-barstool variety. The front third or so of the pub is raised a step up with a timber balustrade around. The band are playing (to my bemusement) the song 'Mony Mony'. Okay... I go over to the far left where Kay Emm and some others sit (though I know it is her Kay does not look now like herself). She has my earplugs in and looks pained. I take out the other pair of earplugs - blue foam ones, matching those she's wearing. Is it too loud? She says not, but indicates her neck, just below the jawline, and the side of her head-

Tommy James & The Shondells - Mony Mony

Yuggle

At the Glasgow Film Theatre watching the film Boogie Nights (which I have not seen). Some pals seated on my left, 'Sporty' Spice then 'Posh' Spice to my right. I had a shoe 'Posh' had given me in my bag and delighted in showing it to 'Sporty'-

The screen curtain on the right kept drawing and obscuring half the screen, much to everyone's dismay. Two usherettes eventually appeared to calm the audience outbursts. As the curtain drew across the screen for the third time I went ballistic, only to be collared by an usherette. Oddly, her having decided to throw me out, the exit was only accessible by being marched to the front of the cinema and ascending a metal rung ladder that would take me up and in amongst the ceiling lighting above the stage - visually more reminiscent of the theatre at this point - then over and down another metal ladder to where the exit was. About halfway through my negotiation of the overhead lighting – in between stage and spotlights – that I went mental. Another furious outburst. The usherette's response was one of equal venom and I went quiet, going down the other ladder and towards the exit where the other usherette was waiting. Just as I was about to leave I suddenly remembered I must have left my watch and, rather than going back over the screen, I raced back through the audience to get it. This was a scary moment as I blatantly disobeyed the furious usherettes. However, I retrieved my watch – which was more like a stopwatch in shape – and made my exit sharpish-

From this point on things got rather confusion. I was certainly being pursued for my life by white clad figures that I suspect were Imperial Stormtroopers, but the vibe was very Tom Baker-era Doctor Who, another childhood favourite-