day-glo dreams

I’d come back after work and found the house a total state. There
was a huge pool of dirty water in the living room and my girlfriend was
lying by the fire. She’d become a smack addict and had to have both her
legs amputated. She was preparing some smack for this other guy who was
kneeling beside her. He looked like Paul Raven from Killing Joke. She
said “Alright dear, this is [K]… he plays bass in Babylon Zoo.”


I was researching the history of my ancient ancestor Lord Bloodwar and
had visited his crumbling gothic estate. Outside a huge cathedral I
noticed a massive silver tank, about the size of a house. A voice came
over a loudspeaker from within and told me that Bruce Dickinson was the
current Lord Bloodwar and that he wanted me to go to Iron Maiden’s last
ever gig.

The tank started rolling toward me and Maiden mascot Eddie was standing
on the turret in futuristic green armour. I had to scramble up an old
castle wall to get out of the way. I found myself overlooking a valley,
the tank behind me and the sun setting before me. Maiden then got out of
the tank and started playing a song written by the ghost of Rozz
Williams about cutting peoples’ limbs off and reassembling them in weird
configurations. The tank shot missiles over the valley and I stood on
the precipice rocking out and going ‘Woo’.

my brother had prepared a really lavish dinner party for my parents and friends, with lots of sauces and stuff. Anyhow i was left on washing up detail with a bunch of kids. There was so much washing up to do and all the work surfaces were completely cluttered. Suddenly someone started heckling us for our poor organisation skills. The person turned out to be Lionel Blair (the dancer and bloke who was always on ‘give us a clue’). He was gesticulating wildly and swearing at me calling us a a bunch of “mincefuckers”. I then noticed he had one hand missing. I wanted to ask him to stop criticising unless he was prepared to get his hands dirty and help us, but didn’t want to cause offence by thinking i was taking the piss out of him because he only had one hand….

I was in a queue for some kind of village fete. There were two entrances, one to the right one to the left. I chose the right entrance and found myself in one of those terrible local art exhibitions. Suddenly I began to panic, and somehow I was in my Audi. I reversed as if in a car chase from “The Sweeney”. But my rear window was completely covered in a coat of white dust so began to worry I would knock over the people in the queue. I managed to negotiate my way out and took the entrance to the left.

I found myself in large country house garden. The venue was hosting an open day about the alchemist Fulcanelli. Two scholarly chaps with white beards who looked like Sigmund Freud or Georg Bernard Shaw were seated in contemplation on a bench involved in a game of chess. They reminded me in dress of the figures in Salvador Dali’s “The Pharmacist Of Ampurdan seeking absolutely nothing”. Music started to play over the tannoy. It was a short loop of Latino music, with a vocal sample over the top. The sample caused me to see a series of cards being displayed similar to Bob Dylan’s video of “Subterranean Homesick Blues”. The only one I could remember was a photo of David Bowie circa “Low”. I decided to park the car but the car park stretched on for miles alongside a series of market stalls selling food.

I met [P] and [M] at the pub. It was a really weird one – apparently Hammer House of Horror were filming there. Everyone in the place was dressed in middle-of-the-road 60s clothes, lots of middle-aged women in long, pastel dresses. Two bands played. The first one had a guy who looked like Buster Bloodvessel, he was wearing a cape and had a midget playing a cheap casio keyboard. He was obviously really badly miming to a pre-recorded track. The second act had the audience in stitches (for some reason) – a trio, but I can only remember two of them – a man who looked like an egg playing a snare drum and a psychopatic WWII bomber pilot on vocals. He had a weird black, conical device with a piece of corrugated tubing coming from it, which changed his voice when he sang
through it. Someone in the crowd shouted “He sounds like a Dalek!” before almost choking to death with laughter

After the pub [P] and [M] came back to the flat. We stayed up talking until the next day and then it was time for them to leave. We were standing on the fire-escape saying our goodbyes when the postman came up – a geeky blonde fellow, a bit like McKenzie Crooke. He said he was here
to do a health check on our mailbox and had brought Jimmy Page along as part of a promotion by Royal Mail. Fair enough, I thought. We went down the fire-escape and I saw a huge car parked in the drive. Jimmy Page was in the front seat staring into space, looking embarassed. I’ve no idea what Page looks like now, but in this dream he was a cross between David Keenan and Garry Glitter. The mail box in question was attached to the garage door. I went over to it with the post man and [P]. [M] was leaning into the front window of Jimmy Page’s car and telling him to move it since it was blocking the drive, oblivious to who he is – or at least pretending to be indifferent! Meanwhile I’m pointing at the car and yelling to [P] – “Look! It’s Jimmy Page!” and [P] is looking everywhere but the car and saying “What? In that tree?” etc. Eventually [P] gets the message and goes over to Mel to ogle Mr.Page through the car window. Page is still staring into space looking embarassed. “I guess the reuinion didn’t go too well, then?” I say to the postman. I look over to the car and see that [P] is feeling faint – he goes to sit down in a rockery, on a cement toadstool next to a fishing gnome. Then
for some reason I become ecstatic… Insanely excited I scream at the sky: “JIMMY PAGE IS HERE TO SEE MY MAILBOX!” The dream cuts to a far away stretch of moorland, my words can be heard echoing in the distance.

I won the entire Fall discography, but when it arrived it was actually a Korean imitation band called The Fal, who had released 10 times as much stuff. I couldn’t get into the flat for
boxes of records…


[N] and I are were poking around this old market and found a game that was a cross between Boggle and Jenga. [N] goes absolutely wild over it. It didn’t matter that the box itself contained a mould’ring pizza base instead of the board and pieces. He was so excited by this discovery that he started to dry hump the box in the middle of the aisle. Many bystanders are disgusted, but I am laughing.

Date: 15/05/08

August 2018
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