I don’t usually dream. Well, of course I do dream, I just don’t recall what I dream about. Tonight though I dreamt of arriving in London with my husband at our flat (which we never actually had there. In the end the placed looked a lot like the house he used to have in Eastbourne when we first met). The place had changed a lot, in my dream it used to be a single house by memory and now it had changed its location to something like a shopping mall but it was still the same address. We had a hard time finding the entrance, but there were helpful people at the property management office next door, producing a key, knowing our name instantly. Odd, as we hadn’t visited the place in years. The flat/house was in surprising good shape, although it smelled a bit mouldy. The plumbing worked fine, too, for British standards. After a shower, we watched the golf. The Open was on, with Darren Clark winning the title of Champion Golfer of the year (which he incidentally did win, yesterday, I just missed it, I had to work). Then we ventured out to explore the new surroundings that had developed around our place. We recognised a couple of underlying constructional structures to the neighbourhood, but everything looked oddly commercialized. Travel agencies, tid-bit shops, bars, warehouses, fashion stores, coffee shops with chairs outside, seemingly our flat was in a street transformed into a buzzing mall with a glass roof covering the entire stretch. I suggested to let the place, as we rarely ever came to London. My husband agreed, mentioning, that the place is in dire need of being done up. Implying, that those renting it are to renovate it. Which I doubted, thinking that it was our duty. And then, all of a sudden Billy sauntered by, an old friend from Eastbourne times, also a Scott, accompanied by Robbie, my husbands brother. We ordered drinks and everything was as it used to be: real fun. Jokes and teasing, heated mock discussions about all and sundry, all held with scintillating pattern and quick-witted repartee. Aw, sometimes I do miss the boys. And in my dream, not once the conversation tipped, turning into a fierce fight. It was all a dream, mind you.


2 thoughts on “weird

  1. sounds like a blast ^^

    like the word “scintillating”. hope to remember it.-

    last line makes me frown, but then again, they are called dreams for a reason-

    (and yes, that is about as far as I am willing to impart “wisdom” hrhr)

    have a good one 🙂


  2. ahh, I do appreciate your learned comments. who else around here would ever notice as fine a word as scintillated. love you for this. have a good one, too. and nice dreams…


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