11 April 2009

One who can only find his way by loon might...

A man is entitled to his dreams, isn't he?

Like the one I have about the family of very small people who live inside the lid of a jar of marmalade. Or the one with the ever-expanding cushion. Or the one where the train chases me through the garden of crazy-paving until my foot gets trapped between the broken pavers and I wake up just as it's about to hit me.

I don't much like that one.

Or the one about the cushion, come to that. Suffocation isn't pretty.

Why is the train a steam train? And why do I imagine that a train can chase me around, constantly rolling track out in front of itself so it can continue the pursuit? And why do I get that dream when I have a cold?

Chuff, chuff, chuff, chuff; chuff, chuff, chuff, chuff...

And why do people think they are more likely to have dreams when they eat cheese before they go to bed? I really can't think why that would work...

No comments: