Dream Journal

Not the Nicest Parts of Britain

I arrived from a long overseas flight in London with my wife. We set out on the next leg of our journey, having to catch a tube train closer into town. A series of mishaps ensues: misplacing luggage, catching the wrong train, getting on the right train only to get off as it leaves. One train is made of narrow little linked platforms just big enough for a person, each shaped like beige pyramids that one must balance to ride on. My wife finds it difficult to stay on and dismounts just as this small short train leaves. Finally I get mad and yell at her, harrumphing down the stairs to see if I can find someone to talk sense into her.

(There is a linking dream at this point in the night — forming a cohesive three-part story — but it’s been forgotten.)

I view a map of Scotland, highlighting a major province disconnected into three parts (similar to these dreams, I suppose). One might think this province was the nice part, given its reputation, but locals would rather you visit anywhere else. On the map, it’s almost camouflaged with a plaid pattern coloration shifting into a saturated pink, revealing how ungainly the thing is printed on the map. I notice that it’s shape seems to form the negative space on a Union Jack flag.

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