It’s easy to turn in to an atheist in dreamland.
I was giving a speech at the old Kingdom Hall (of Jehovah’s Witnesses) in York. The look on everyone’s face when I started telling them that they were no more going to inherit a paradise earth than I was going to win the lottery. Priceless.
As a marched off stage, I was confronted by various people, asking how Pauline Thurgood was, telling David Thurgood to do one, that sort of thing. As I made my way to the end of the isle, i was grabbed by David Bloomer (who I always had a lot of time for) and he was asking me how I could get up there and say such nasty things. He wasn’t angry, just shocked I think.
As I left through the back doors and into the little hallway where the bogs are, I remember jumping and touching the top of the door frame, and being happy cos ‘I never have to be in this fucking place again’.
Tall lanky Danny Giles was there as was his fat peeping tom of a father (they looked as old as they where when we used to go to that kingdom hall), giving me odd looks as I walked out. I went into the toilets for a last piss (on the floor as it happens), but the toilets were really small (they always were, but not this small).
There was a queue and I was busting so I did what any self respecting football fan/festival goer does. Yes, I pissed in the sink.
Continuing this ablution theme, there was a part of this dream spent trying to clean up my own shit. I think I was at someone’s house, and I couldn’t stop shitting and there was no toilet brush. I didn’t have the runs, it was solid logs, but only little ones, sort of Mr Hanky size. I distinctly remember l laid one on the edge of the toilet seat.
The next thing I know I am entering a restaurant with Mary, Liz, Lishka and Mi mam. I boldly announce that this is why I don’t like coming here, while pointing to the nice mahogany board that tells each ethnic group which section’/table to sit at. We are grouped under number 13. Indians, I notice are on table/section 14. I don’t know if this is Native American or Asian.
There is next a moment when I am hiding from someone under my bed. i don’t know who or what, but someone comes into the room and stands right next to me. i try not to breath, and the person goes away.
Next, I am in Pembrooke Street off Shipton Street. This used to be the second street on my paper round, but I am not delivering papers now.
I am in a car with my brother. He keeps mentioning his mate ‘Stanch’. For those of you that know him, this his one of his stock phrases (along with ‘in america’ and ‘I know for a fact (often when he doesnt know anything of the sort)), used when playing football to describe a shot that goes in, that hits the stansion.
So as we start to drive down Pembrooke street, I notice a battered blue ford fiesta. I get out of the car we are in and run to it, and have a look at it, and notice the door is not closed properly. Giving it a bit of a tug, the door opens easily enough.
It turns out this is mi Mam’s car (she did actually prang it a few weeks back, and there is actually a problem with the door).
My brother got out of the other car and came to help me shut the door, as it was proving somewhat difficult.