To bastardise John Lennon, “I’m not a dreamer, and I’m not the only one.” but recently, I’ve been having some strange dreams.
Normally dreams come to me infrequently, and the dreams that I do have are vague, or a reflection of what’s going on in my life - Worrying about work, the kids or pondering on life in general.
Sometimes, though, I have strange dreams that hold very little similarity to reality. My Weird dream involving Stephen Fry from October 2010 holds up to this, what with a double decker bus being folded in half, and was equally as bizarre, though merely (I assume) reflects my fears about protecting my family.
A couple of nights ago I had a dream about Freddie Mercury. I was in my flat, which I’ve only lived in for 7 weeks, and Freddie Mercury was in the kitchen with me. Although it wasn’t in the dream itself, he had just appeared out of nowhere to surprise me. We chatted like we were old friends, and reflected on how we missed the old times back when he was alive and healthy (a time, in real life, that I’d have been in infant school).
The dream was so real, and I felt such a rush at seeing my “old friend” after 20 years that had it been a dream about a dead relative I’d been close to, I would have sworn blind it was some kind of sign. I remember being deeply upset that he couldn’t stay, saying that it wasn’t fair that he had to go back. He laughed and declared that he had only come to remind me (“remind”, rather than “tell”, strangely) that things were going to be ok, that he was fine and that life shouldn’t be lived with regrets. Then he kissed me on the lips and disappeared, and I woke up.
The next dream occurred the next night, happening just before I woke up, and was the shortest dream I have ever had. It was simply me walking through an overgrown plot of grass and towards a small dirty white picket fence, no more than a foot or two high. I only took a couple of paces, but as I got slightly closer I saw what was behind the fence - the lifeless body of a ten year old girl (and for some reason I knew that she was definitely ten, it was a very prominent part of the dream), and although she was on her back and I could see that she was wearing a frilly red dress that looked like the sort you’d see on a Spanish dancer, I didn’t see her face. I knew she’d had her throat cut and that this discovery would launch a murder investigation. I woke with a start, horrified and confused. The dream lasted a few seconds, at most.
After two nights of strange dreams and poor sleep, coupled with the fact that my back was killing me, I decided last night that I would take a Diazepam to knock me out and hopefully sleep through. It obviously didn’t work as last night I had a strange dream where I was sat front-row in a small theatre in Norwich (a city I have only ever been to once, and never to go to the theatre). There were only a couple of hundred seats in the place, and Madonna was headlining (though when I woke up and tried to remember the details of the dream, my mind could only think back to ‘someone famous, but with a wrinkled old-lady neck’ which is unkind, though apt.) She did a few songs, before handing over to Pink who did a set of her own. Then we had an intermission which saw a chorus of can-can girls dancing across the stage, five dancers across and at least twenty dancers deep, each and every one of them had the head of Beyonce (that is to say instead of their own head, not carrying Beyonce’s head around under their arm). Even in my drug-fuelled sleepy brain, I knew that wasn’t right, but couldn’t figure out why these hundred or so dancers ALL had the same head.
I woke consigned to the fact that my brain is obviously being a bit trippy at the moment, and only while writing this have I realised that in the three dreams written above, and the two dreams linked previously, the running themes are death beyond my control and gay people. I’m not a great believer in dream psychology or premonitions, but if I get found dead any time soon, please point the police in the direction of homosexual fantasists.