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Three dreams from the weekend of Friday 30th of June - Sunday 1st of July. I never have memorable dreams as such, but for some unknown reason, which could be anything from my caffeine addiction to the new scorching hot West Indian chilli sauce we bought, I had three absolutely insane dreams in a row. Analyse and call me mad to your heart's content. The madness increases exponentially by dream, I warn you. This is for DreamQuest 2007

Friday Night

Some context: I had watched Hot Fuzz on DVD the previous night. I finished my last exam on the 26th of June.

It was dark, but not solid, actual dark, more like the dim orange light of a street at night, which wasn't all that surprising, given the bitterly cold wind, the streetlights in the distance and the cars rushing past. Apparently, I was on a wintry, blustery street, but this could have passed for my mental image of a British summer for all I knew. It was the last day of school again, except in a freezing cold wind and not in the daytime.

Baffled by this, I head towards the building behind me, without looking at its exterior, which on reflection, could have been a mistake. I stand in the rather bland, boring entrance of this building and try to figure out what's going on. I glance down at my clothes, and the best description of them I could come up with was 'Irish skinhead'. I had my silver Doc. Martens on, complete with green laces, almost glowing in the strange lighting, then blue jeans with green stitching, a white shirt with green braces, and to cap it all off by making up for my hair, a black and green beanie. I, apparently, dress with more co-ordination in my dreams than I ever manage in real life.

Finding some people I know milling around in this entrance space, for lack of a better word, we go inside. It now turns out that our school hall, which came complete with a fancy balcony for old people like myself, has turned into the City Hall, and we're now stood in the gods. My friends seem completely unphased by this and go find a seat. I join them and wait to see what happens. The lights dim, the curtains go up and I look down at the stage to see that my teachers are acting. Including my History teacher dressed up as a big, fat, Henry VIII style King. Their acting is bad. Just awful. There are pseudo Shakespearian lines peppered throughout the thing, including the classic 'I'll kiss thee, I will.'

That was pretty much that.

Saturday Night

Some context: I am an avid fan of House MD. I hate musicals. I went to bed at 2am that night.

I don't quite remember how it started, but House was most definitely there, in all his snarky glory. I don't even remember being in this dream, it was very much like watching a film or TV programme. Typical, considering. He was on a plane, flying somewhere or other, it was very irrelevant. Deciding he wanted a first class seat, he went and stole one from a very indignant looking old lady who had just stood up to get her book. Just as he was settling in, Cuddy popped out of thin air with her 'Cuddy Powers!' or something similar. She starts to tell him off, and all of a sudden, they're in a living room. Still arguing away, they are, all of a sudden, interrupted by Jeeves. Because if Hugh Laurie's in a dream, Stephen Fry has to pop along. This Jeeves, however, was very un-Jeeves like. He had messy hair, crutches, and he had been magically sleeping on the setteewithout anyone noticing. Maybe my mind equalised the franchise between House and Jeeves. He picks up his crutches, shrugs, and limps out with a "Don't mind me, sir," and the argument continues.

They clearly get bored of snarking at each other for hours, so head out of the room, and all of a sudden we're back in the plane. The old lady had turned into Wilson, which my subconscious probably thought was hilarious. All three then, on the spur of the moment, decide to go and get some drinks. An air steward arrives and tells them all alcohol is free, at which point I'm wondering what airline this is and how I could get some tickets. Then, everyone bursts out singing, and I'm transported onto some Wild West style train, rushing through it, jumping over drunkards on the floor as a non-existent song 'Raging Alcoholics' plays in the background. It was far too cheery and in American English, which confused me even more. By this point, the cast of House were long lost in my subconscious.

Sunday Night

Some context: I am going on holiday to Denmark very shortly. I am deathly afraid of driving, and work on Dylan Moran's maxim on learning to drive, "I can't swim. I can't drive, either. I was going to learn to drive but then I thought, well, what if I crash into a lake?". I have an unnatural love of History. The only musical I can stand is 1776.

I was at school, yet again, slightly concerned for the educational theme these dreams were taking. Except it wasn't quite my school. It was a cross between school and my gran's house. I went up to the IT room, swinging on the double railings, a feature both my school and my gran's house have. Except it was the tiny little bedroom at my gran's where I used to stay when I was little, so I sat myself down and looked over at the bed, only to find one of my friends sitting on it, flicking through some rather disturbingly glossy magazine, or whatever is usually lying around the common room.

Apparently, we were late for History. I kept telling people this, getting increasingly agitated, because nobody wanted to go. It ended up with me whinging like a three year old, 'come ooooooon, let's go to History!' then sticking two fingers in their face and heading to the lesson on my own. So, off I go to History. Except it just so happens that to get to my lesson, I have to go through Denmark. Which is a first, as normally it's just down the corridor. As I'm going along, there's this swampland, which is sopping wet from the sheer amount of rain there has been recently. There are rusty cars and motorbikes sticking out of this swamp. In my infinite, but obviously quite stupid, logic, I decide that this is because in Denmark, to get a driving licence, you have to drive through a swamp and make it out the other side. Those rusting cars were the people that failed. A very morbid, slightly hilarious and fundamentally untrue solution to this vision.

Upon arriving at History, I'm the only one there, in this entirely unfamiliar classroom. I am also wearing men's 18th century period dress. Other people start arriving, including my history teacher, and as soon as they step in the room, they're all in period costume too. Mainly as men, so I feel a tad more comfortable with my enforced gender. My History teacher has grown a beard and reminds me a little of Blackadder II, just a little more Enlightenment. Suddenly, I've got a script. We're going to do a historical re-enactment. The great thing about this one? None of the historical events actually happened, and none of the historical characters we were playing actually existed. I seem to be the only one who knows this. I also seem to be the only one with a real problem remembering my lines, as my teacher says to me, "Good evening, sir, I'm Lord Cuzon, what may I call you?" I then flounder over my words and end up having to look at my script to find out I'm Stephen Samuels.

Then, it turns out there's singing in the script. Everyone's doing a really good job, apart from me, who is a miserable failure, probably because I can't act, I can't sing, I kept losing my page in the script, oh, and the fact that I'm the only one who seems to know that none of these people are real.

For DreamQuest 2007

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