“It’s always been my dream to … it’s like a dream come true” and other phrases in common use all imply that dreams are wonderful things. They can’t be referring to what happens in your head while asleep. At least not my head. Here’s what I woke from this morning:
I was entwined in an erotic embrace with a gorgeous black woman. She looked at me through heavy-lidded eyes and breathed: “Do you have an air fryer?”. Momentarily put off my stride, I said I had. “Maybe,” she whispered, “we could use it together some time.”
And then I woke up. Dreams are rubbish.
D’oh. Stupid Afterword giving me error messages and making me retype a post from memory and then making them both (er …) come at once like London buses. I’ve had a word with the mods but expect they’re all slumbering in their onesies.
After a careful comparison process I’ve decided that this thread is the one. The other night Mrs thep dreamed that both I and her first husband divorced her simultaneously, having both erred in ways she refused to reveal. She was in a bad mood with a tension headache all day, so that dream was definitely rubbish.
My dreams are always rubbish, and usually involve anxiety, either getting lost or being too late for things or both. If one of them featured a lovely black lady and an air fryer I’d be delirious with joy.
For KFD:
My favourite ever dream, when I was in my 20s, began with a silent, black field of vision. Then the following message appeared, in white, Helvetica block capitals:
Due to a technical fault, we are unable to bring you tonight’s dream. Apologies for any inconvenience.
Then I woke up.
For KFD:
Turning over to catch a few źźzzzzzzzzzzzzs if I catch a dream too I’ll let you know.
For KFD:
Got some źźzzzzzzzzzzzzs pulled down some ivy in my dream. Does that help?
Dreams Are Rubbish… wasn’t that a Crowded House album?
For KFD:
Yes. We get it.
Made me chuckle though.
Have you noticed how many Americans can’t pronounce their “R”s, rendering many dreams into mere deams?
Witness:
Fun fact (that I suspect we all knew) – La Hoffs recorded this song naked, lying on the studio floor.
In your deams, mate…
As Tim Curry sang, don’t dream it, be it. All you’d need is a consensual black woman and an air fryer.
It was all going so well until she asked about the air fryer.
Though personally speaking I’d find that the easiest bit of the dream to bring to life.
*Drums fingers* waiting for a “for KFD” of Little Feat
I’ve had me knuckles rapped by Mr Escher already. I’ll leave it to KFD. Great choice, though.
*fingers drums* Choice? What choice? I’m not feeling as razor sharp as usual today. Could you enlighten me? Perhaps by posting a video of the song you have in mind?
*flinch*
Not me, sir, ooh no.
Wakes up ..
This, is, just, so, very, very, great.
*sob^
Air fryers pfft. Last night I dreamt I left my dressing gown in Joan Sims’ flat.
That’s nuffin’. Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.
Did you see Nellie?
“I dreamt I left my dressing gown in Joan Sims’ flat.”
Afterword Blue Plaque
English Heritage got there first.
“The Afterword Blue Plaque is bestowed on heritage comments which encapsulate the essence of Afterwordiness” – Wikipedia
Thank you, everyone – you’re too kind.
You’re welcome. You can give it back now – Hubes has to change it to “Afterword Heritage” for the next lucky winner.
But I’ve only just mounted it, above my front door.
That’s a very useful comma you “inserted” there
In an occasionally recurring dream of mine, I’m in the back of a car careering down a hill with nobody in the driver’s seat. I start to climb over the seat to take the wheel and then I wake up.
Metaphorical, innit.
According to Mrs. Paws ‘dream me’ is a real cad and a bounder. She will often wake in the morning in a stinker of a mood because of whatever I’ve been up to for the previous 8 hours, and will only be placated by me making her a coffee. Dream me really pisses me off.
This is a Thing. I knew an Italian couple years ago, and she would dream that her husband – a likeable and good-humored young man – misbehaved in some way, when she would wake and be furious with him, hitting him with a pillow. He’d laugh, which only made it worse. That was true love.
Last night Mrs. Paws was having a dream about moving to a beautiful house in the Pyrenees. She told me that as we were shown around the home dream me was being particularly rude to the French estate agent. On entering the kitchen dream me exclaimed to the estate agent “what do you lot need a kitchen for? You only eat hamburgers!” The French estate agent naturally got annoyed, where in dream me apologised and said “you’re right. It’s horse burgers, isn’t it?”
Surprisingly, after 18 years of dream me being a bit of a tool (and real me having to make a lot of early morning coffee) we are still hanging in there.