Tag: Britain

Categories
Dream Journal

British Hooky & Backwards Mountain Climb

Atop Mt. San Jacinto (or a place like it), a group of people reveal that they’ve been walking down a mountain backwards and filming it. They film one bit at a time and intend to eventually play the footage in reverse as a kind of gag, so in their words “to look athletic instead of batshit”. Who walks down a mountain backwards indeed.

Attending a screening premiere with Noel Gallagher (or was it Noel Fielding?) when I go play hooky instead, slipping out a side door. Noel stays and isn’t happy about the idea, but will probably cover for me to prevent himself the embarassment of me leaving.

From the shared parking lot of the complex there, I enter a British store which is a long corridor presented as different merchants. Actually in Britain proper, I’d say. At the very end there is a table of affable Australians keen to sell their used motocross-style helmets. The brand name is just “Australia” — or possibly “Victoria”, with the comment made “does any other Australian state make as good a brand name?” I do notice that the design has a slit down the front, something I reckon wouldn’t be good for road dust… especially in a place like the outback.

I return to the end of the corridor later when no one is around. I take the obvious shortcut of jumping over the fence and out the back window. I do try to be polite about it by ensuring it’s closed after I go. Slowly I float down from my high egress, aiming and landing on top of a fat rat out in the parking lot. I playfully pat it to tease the little critter.

Soon I steal a tow truck or something. Can’t remember everything, can I?

Categories
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.