It’s morning. A friend is staying the night – he and H are both still in bed. It is raining, and I am sitting alone in the grey gloom of the living room in pyjamas and an old fleece, drinking tea and aching all over. We had curry last night, and we all had an alcoholic drinkie. And watched some of the first series of Red Dwarf.
I dreamt that a nuclear power station big enough to power the entire earth, built over a volcano in Iceland (for why? Logic of dreams absurd) was in danger of melt-down and I had been called in to sort out the hideous computer malfunction that was about to bring on the Apocalypse (for why? I don’t DO computers. Logic of dreams seriously absurd). The hotel beside the power station was packed full of all my favourite authors and comedians and singers, down to and including Terry Pratchett and the entire Berlin Philharmonic (obviously). And I zoomed in on my Rocket-Man-style jet-boots (that was the best bit of the entire dream) and marched into the control room (mahogany lined and with a very large bar and also potted palms. Am reminded of the Heart of Gold) and flipped open my brief-case only to discover… one small sheet of paper. On which I had scribbled a shopping list and a small castle. And I suddenly realised I hadn’t done any homework at all and I was now going to have to tell the Berlin Philharmonic, for chrissakes, that I hadn’t done my homework and therefore the world was going to end in, oooh, approximately 28 minutes.Vodka-tonic, anyone?
I do so hate the two week wait. Roll on Tuesday.