It's about *redemption*.
Am attempting to make TEH BIRFDAI PLANZ. I say plans, probably won't be anything exciting (although after last year's plan of, oh yes, falling asleep, anything will be, I suppose). Will probably go and see Hairspray on the main day, I think, and a shopping session is overdue. Very girly. And I would very much like to see Alex again, but [insert Jamesface's "TYPICAL!" here] there's no performances on that day so Tuesday is the best bet, but Craig's working which means I'll be going on my own if I want to see it then. Hmm. And then at the end of next week I'll make plans to head back t'North West.
Now, onto a subject I've not broached for a bit. Celebrity dreams! They've been a bit thin on the ground in the last few months but some shouldn't go without mention...
This morning's involved Robert being roped into one of those Ten Years Younger shows (Which I loathe with a passion, grr. It's What Not to Wear with CHEATING and a midlife crisis) because to my ABSOLUTE HORROR he'd let some plastic surgeon slice his face up. No! Or, I quote, "NoooooooooooOOOOoooooooo0000000000000oooOOOOOO!". Why on earth would I ever even imagine such unspeakable horror?
It had the annoyingly vapid presenter talking to him afterwards (behind a shop counter because.....I don't know why) and some other celebrity bloke who I've never known who'd had a face lift or something talking to a heavily bandaged Robert. And although he was indeed looking twenty years younger, he was bleeding all over the show and had this really pitiful 'It hurts, do not want now. Want to go home.' look on his manipulated face. The other victim, who to his credit was quite chirpy and likeable, kissed the bandage in a completely gratuitous subconscious slash moment or something. Something had to save the nightmare.
Anyway, other recent subconscious highlights include:
- Going on a date with Mr Darcy. This of course being the (superior) Colin Firth variant, and perhaps it was technically him as we were at a contemporary restaurant, and he just happened to be in full costume, breeches and all.
Well, it turned out to be some film thing wherein I was apparently playing the best friend type because some *other* woman turned up and all three of us were there awkwardly. The DarcyFirth scowled at me most of the time, with his patented look of contempt and all that. I think he even attempted to throw some food at me at some point. Right.
-And of course, a school related dream is never far away. This time it was Simon Cowell's turn to play Guest Teacher Role, and we were working on some school musical or something. And yet he was still the famous Simon Cowell, because I was absolutely petrified of singing in front of him, lest he SHOOT ME DOWN IN FLAMES.
So I wandered off into some really fancy posh toilets (some school I never went to). Some teacher type woman was worried because she'd streamed up the room (I don't know *how*, alas) so i was all, 'quick, open the windows!' but this bit's not particularly interesting.
Other non VIP dreams have involved:
- Me having an argument with an old lady at a bus stop after her unnecessary criticism of the film, The Mask. I can't remember what had riled her so much about the film's moral message, but my defining arument seemed to be, "It's about *redemption*!"
Which, as far as I can remember, it isn't. It's about a green bloke in a silly zoot suit.
- Going shopping with my Mum only to be accused of groping some girl's t'arse by her boyfriend. Merely by waving my hands out at an unfortunate moment. I don't usually gesticulate so much in public, y'know? Anyway, he wasn't sold on this defense, so I whacked him with my silver bag. Several times. Missed several times too, because even in dreams my aim is crap.
Colin Firth's aim, however, is apparently quite good.