The nuclear / Bexleyheath dream
Weird dreams. They’re the only type of dreams I seem to have.
I also had a dream the other night which is the only thing I can be bothered to write about. The dream was based in Bexleyheath, near to where I grew up, and I was looking at the outside of an old church on the Broadway with the kids when all of a sudden, in the direction of London, there were three or four shafts of fire rising up from the ground, each finished off with a plume of smoke at the top.
People around me looked on in confusion, but I knew straight away that it was a nuclear attack, and calmly collected the kids together and cuddled in, awaiting the inevitable as I told the kids to hold tight. I woke up as the approaching explosion got ever closer, shocked at how vivid it seemed, and strangely unperturbed by the death of everyone.
I think that’s a running theme for me though. I’ve never been afraid of dying, only of leaving people behind. In turn that logic also tells me that if everyone died at the same time - friends and family - in some kind of massive explosion that somehow, as no one is left behind to grieve for, that it’s all ok. I also think that a therapist would have a field day with me.