On waking the next morning, I wrote in my diary about the dream I’d just awoken from. I now have no recollection of any of these apparently-once-very-vivid images but I’m so glad I recorded them, because they really are a bit wacko. Perhaps David Lynch would like to use them as a basis for his next movie? Here they are as I wrote them down...
Dreamt about a girl from work playing Dorothy in a sort of funked-up version of… looks like SOMEONE’S been eating too much Cornish cheese.
The Wizard of Oz while I looked on in jealousy as a cast member. Talked with the
pocket-rocket (?semi-famous) black chick who’d missed out on the part of the
afro’d lion to someone crapper. Then it was suddenly Nikki Webster who was
Dorothy, and the Director was feeding her drugs in an attempt to get her into
bed. She and I ran down the street of my parents’ place to number 3, which was
owned by Chris and Georgia, the actual neighbours at Claremont St, and they had
a nice lunch- yes, never mind the sex pervert, come eat!- and we had somehow
found time to make a sort of root vegetable bake, and it was somehow deceptive
as the veggies didn’t cover the whole base of the dish, even though it looked
like they did [here I drew a picture of the aforementioned ‘deceptive vegetable
bake’ and wrote: “…lifting up these little discs of parsnip/whatever made us
Anyway, after describing in ridiculous detail my ridiculous dream, I went for a lovely country run and then we took a lovely country train ride to St Ives! Our train companions were a lady and her two very cute grandsons, who were both fairly amped by the fact that the train was GREEN! And green is their FAVOURITE COLOUR! We took our bikes on the train, but abandoned them fairly quickly once at our destination, instead ambling in the *dun dun dunnnn!* sunshine, pasties in hand the size of small children. We sat on a wall that overlooked a boggy, tides-out patch of beach, and Taco waited eagerly for a buggy to get stuck and fling out its contents (child) for our amusement. Kind fellow. The afternoon rain forced us into tea shops for Cornish Clotted Cream Extravaganzas, charity shops for unnecessary clothing purchases, and warm pubs for wine and magazine-perusal. A bit squelchy on arrival back in Penzance, we dried off then settled in for a culturally-enriching night of Snacks From The Supermarket And X-Factor.
The next morning I went for another ‘lovely country run’, which involved a tiny bit more stress than the previous day’s: let it be known that “Nearest one is right down there in the village” are THE most uncomforting words a toilet-needy runner wants to hear, even if it is in a quaint Cornish accent. But enough of my bowel motions!... We rode to Marazion, a town which boasts being the home of St Michael’s Mount- a great big castle on an island on a hill. The tide was in…bummer… but then, quite quickly, the tide was out… YAY!... so we walked across the causeway and wandered around the castle. After a blowy ride back along the seashore to Penzance, and slightly pushed for time (quelle surprise, McEvoy), we packed our goods, pfaffed around deciding what to eat (wouldn’t you know it ended up being a pastie!) then boarded the train for London town. Which, to be honest, is not such a hot-spot to come back to after a long weekend somewhere with clotted cream and ocean and great accents and cheap spirits. It’s just coming home. Hyde Park? Schmeh.