Dream a little dream...
Last night I dreamt that the Beatles had reformed, and by some peculiar fluke I had been asked by Paul and Ringo to play bass guitar. I remember feeling very nervous and unworthy, and generally very grateful to have been asked, and said as much to the visiting television journalists.
The above dream wouldn't worry me so much were it not for the fact that, since I was about six years old, Paul McCartney has figured in many of my dreams. I have absolutely no idea what it is the man is supposed to represent in either a Freudian or Jungian sense. I certainly have no time for most of his post-Beatles work or, on occasions, his general attitude or opinions. Clearly the fact that he periodically pops up in my dreamsleep with a nod of the head and his thumbs aloft has to be representative of SOMETHING, but I'm buggered if I can tell you what.
Worse still, a couple of nights before I dreamt that Belinda Carlisle was seducing me. I can quite honestly say that I haven't really thought about the woman since about 1989, so God knows where that came from. However, I have also been told that, despite some very convincing plastic surgery on her face, her hands look like those of a pensioner. Surely that would have been enough to banish the dream from my mind? Or maybe that's the nightmarish point my brain was getting to before the alarm went off.
On another topic altogether, is anyone going to Poetry Unplugged on Tuesday night? It'll be my first open mic in about a year if I go, and I'd be a bit less nervous if I thought one of the regulars might be there too.
The above dream wouldn't worry me so much were it not for the fact that, since I was about six years old, Paul McCartney has figured in many of my dreams. I have absolutely no idea what it is the man is supposed to represent in either a Freudian or Jungian sense. I certainly have no time for most of his post-Beatles work or, on occasions, his general attitude or opinions. Clearly the fact that he periodically pops up in my dreamsleep with a nod of the head and his thumbs aloft has to be representative of SOMETHING, but I'm buggered if I can tell you what.
Worse still, a couple of nights before I dreamt that Belinda Carlisle was seducing me. I can quite honestly say that I haven't really thought about the woman since about 1989, so God knows where that came from. However, I have also been told that, despite some very convincing plastic surgery on her face, her hands look like those of a pensioner. Surely that would have been enough to banish the dream from my mind? Or maybe that's the nightmarish point my brain was getting to before the alarm went off.
On another topic altogether, is anyone going to Poetry Unplugged on Tuesday night? It'll be my first open mic in about a year if I go, and I'd be a bit less nervous if I thought one of the regulars might be there too.