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Last night's dreams
The main feature of last night's dream was set in Post-Apocalyptic Bristol. This is a location my dreams quite often seem to use: perhaps it is cheap, or they have got some sort of package deal going on.
Post-Apocalyptic Bristol is quite a bit bigger than Today's Bristol, but also a lot more ruinous. In particular it has a monstrous, terracotta-coloured multistory car park which has terrifying chasms riven in the floors, and where sometimes chunks fall out of the ceiling, narrowly missing my head. It also has mighty decaying contraflows, bridges and flyovers which it is very easy to accidentally drive your Mad Max style vehicle off, or into. Post-Apocalyptic Bristol does still have some inhabitants. I don't know what they eat, in that urban wasteland, although some of them have goats, and I have seen a bean-garden growing on top of a tall crumbling building.
Near Post-Apocalyptic Bristol is the Post-Apocalyptic Severn Bridge (the old suspension bridge, not the new cable bridge. The new bridge never appears. Possibly something terrible has happened to it). The bridge is netted with thick strands of ivy and bushy with honeysuckle, and the surface of it is very treacherous. Sometimes if it is windy the bridge moves about and you can hear groaning sounds coming from the metal frame. The inhabitants of the area no longer use the bridge, which is blocked off and has signs that say 'Danger' roughly painted near it. Instead they usually travel up stream and cross the River Severn higher up, but I have urgent reasons to need to cross the bridge, and must take my chances. I made it across, but it was somewhat hair raising.
The supporting feature of last night's dream was an excellent dinner in a pleasant restaurant in a small tourist town, notable for being surrounded by small hills and beautiful blue lakes. This was unremarkable, except that at the next table was a person who was entirely covered in very long fine white hair. He or she was not wearing any other clothes, though really, none were needed, as he (or she) was carrying a credit card in his long pale fingers. The pads of the fingers were bare, with a rubbery texture and a reddish brown colouring.
Other random thoughts :
- why is it that buying so called 'eco-friendly' clothes washing liquid inevitably gives you a bottle of soap that is peculiarly difficult to pour from or hold? It's not particularly eco-friendly to spill half of it on the floor.
- Why do tourist resorts on tiny sandrafts entirely surrounded by miles of warm, inviting turquoise sea, and one imagines, relatively short on fresh water - build swimming pools? Are they for people with a morbid fear of turtles? (I'd guess it was sharks, only given that said resorts all offer diving, this seems unlikely. )
- If it has chocolate swirls on it, it is NOT a desert. It is a dessert. Likewise, if someone gives you a dessert that is covered in sand, I think you can justifiably send it back and complain.... If you can't remember the difference, then for the love of Smarties, what is wrong with the word 'Pudding'???
Post-Apocalyptic Bristol is quite a bit bigger than Today's Bristol, but also a lot more ruinous. In particular it has a monstrous, terracotta-coloured multistory car park which has terrifying chasms riven in the floors, and where sometimes chunks fall out of the ceiling, narrowly missing my head. It also has mighty decaying contraflows, bridges and flyovers which it is very easy to accidentally drive your Mad Max style vehicle off, or into. Post-Apocalyptic Bristol does still have some inhabitants. I don't know what they eat, in that urban wasteland, although some of them have goats, and I have seen a bean-garden growing on top of a tall crumbling building.
Near Post-Apocalyptic Bristol is the Post-Apocalyptic Severn Bridge (the old suspension bridge, not the new cable bridge. The new bridge never appears. Possibly something terrible has happened to it). The bridge is netted with thick strands of ivy and bushy with honeysuckle, and the surface of it is very treacherous. Sometimes if it is windy the bridge moves about and you can hear groaning sounds coming from the metal frame. The inhabitants of the area no longer use the bridge, which is blocked off and has signs that say 'Danger' roughly painted near it. Instead they usually travel up stream and cross the River Severn higher up, but I have urgent reasons to need to cross the bridge, and must take my chances. I made it across, but it was somewhat hair raising.
The supporting feature of last night's dream was an excellent dinner in a pleasant restaurant in a small tourist town, notable for being surrounded by small hills and beautiful blue lakes. This was unremarkable, except that at the next table was a person who was entirely covered in very long fine white hair. He or she was not wearing any other clothes, though really, none were needed, as he (or she) was carrying a credit card in his long pale fingers. The pads of the fingers were bare, with a rubbery texture and a reddish brown colouring.
Other random thoughts :
- why is it that buying so called 'eco-friendly' clothes washing liquid inevitably gives you a bottle of soap that is peculiarly difficult to pour from or hold? It's not particularly eco-friendly to spill half of it on the floor.
- Why do tourist resorts on tiny sandrafts entirely surrounded by miles of warm, inviting turquoise sea, and one imagines, relatively short on fresh water - build swimming pools? Are they for people with a morbid fear of turtles? (I'd guess it was sharks, only given that said resorts all offer diving, this seems unlikely. )
- If it has chocolate swirls on it, it is NOT a desert. It is a dessert. Likewise, if someone gives you a dessert that is covered in sand, I think you can justifiably send it back and complain.... If you can't remember the difference, then for the love of Smarties, what is wrong with the word 'Pudding'???
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I also once wrote a teeny-tiny little fanfic in which people crashed their space ship into a vast and endless dessert. It was part of a series based on common typos, and it was all rather fun. :-)
re. eco friendly liquids: Maybe it's the hair shirt effect: virtue feels so much more virtuous when you have to labour and suffer in order to attain it.
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Actually, although I've often quoted the fact that I like to destroy Oxford in fanfic, now that I put my mind to it, I can only think of two stories in which I did it, plus one in which it was a city in Fantasyland for which I used Oxford as a mental reference for the architectural style. Clearly I need to destroy Oxford a few more times, in order to justify my claim. I'll go and put out a call for some zombie armies straightaway. :-)
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Actually, both your dreams sound awesome. How does one get dreams like that? Mine last night featured one of my best friends getting married to a member of the Royal Family, and I was forced to be a bridesmaid. You'd have thought if she was marrying royalty, they could at least buy me a fancier dress than just one from Debenhams...
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If I knew where they came from I could recommend my supplier but I have no idea why Apocalyptic Bristol has chosen my head. I don't even know Bristol particularly well?! It's odd.
Bridesmaid to royalty - isn't that a nightmare rather than a dream? It sounds absolutely terrifying!
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Or two shotguns and a loader, of course.
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