The Web of Evil

So in this dream I had (no, come back!), I realised two things: that all the passengers and crew on the shiny new bus pulled up at Tottenham Court Road were black and white, and that thanks to some revolutionary technique they had all been superimposed on to real life from a bus scene in an unspecified Ealing comedy. I marvelled out loud at this as I boarded the bus, causing one of the black and white passengers to entirely freak out. “What are you telling me?” he cried. “I’m not even real?” I realised I probably shouldn’t have said anything and tried to tell him that he should just get on with what he was doing, but this sudden existential crisis had made him frantic and I had to restrain him from attacking me. “Calm down,” I said, pinning his arms. “Fuck off!” he spat back, “I don’t even like you!”

I give this dream 7/10 for its technological innovation but 2/10 for enjoyment, as I don’t appreciate waking up with the unpleasant sensation of fighting off a hysterical man who’s working hard to headbutt me.


At least this time there was no product placement. Earlier this year the same studio brought me the odd experience of zooming along the Thames in a speedboat, bouncing harmlessly off massive gold-coloured inflatables advertising Guinness. To its credit, though. the studio is on a laudably Reithian mission to inform, and I’m constantly learning things I didn’t know. For example, Thora Birch turns out to work for Commons Hansard, which in turn is apparently located in my old school library.

Had an email from internetsdairy yesterday morning:

I just awoke from a dream in which you – you – were training some secret terrorists. You were doing so by taking them Western movies (The Lion King, Cocoon etc) hidden in ‘adult’ DVD covers in a carrier bag. You fiend! I was going to tell the police on you, but then I woke up.

They were democratic terrorists – you didn’t think there was enough democracy in Britain.

I hope there is no truth to these nocturnal rumours.

It turns out the ending was even more of a cliffhanger than he had made out—internetsdairy tells me that just before he woke up he was crossing the road to report my activities to a policeman, while I was on the phone trying to organise a hit to get him taken down before he could talk.


A reconstruction of the terrifying concluding moments of internetsdairy’s dream

As I already mentioned to chiller, I woke up the other morning from a dream, all of which had already dissolved into the morning air apart from this haunting refrain:

Invoice, invoice
Cloudy toy

Any ideas?