Wednesday, August 10, 2005

One is amused.


Hoo boy, did I have some interesting dreams last night.
Maybe it was the 90 minutes of tenderisation courtesy of last nights jiu jitsu class, or maybe because I ate my supper very late last night. Wie weet?

It kicked off where I was standing under the bridge at Wetton station (a middle class suburb of Cape Town- well, it was middle class when I grew up there, nowadays its become rather less than salubrious by all accounts) where I had started up my car, before trying to load some blankets into the boot.

As I did so, I knocked the car into gear and it trundled off, while I ran after it with an armful of blankets.

It was about there that I discovered that I was, in fact, Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, and I had forgotten my shoes.
My first thought was “How embarrassing, I’m running in my socks”.

Anyway, I lost track of the car- it had somehow managed to turn corners. After a bit of searching, I spotted it while standing on Wetton bridge. It had bulldozed its way into Youngsfield army camp; I thought it’d be good to sneak in through the hole in the fence and get away before anyone spotted it.

I almost made it. As I reached the car two sentries opened fire; one with an assault rifle and the other with an old revolver. They missed me, and I closed with them and starting punching them with one hand, while my other held onto my precious cargo of blankets.

The sentries fled and took shelter in my car; I wrenched the door open and continued punching them. Just then the floodlights came on and an anonymous voice shouted at them to stop fighting with me, that didn’t they know who I was?
I felt quite good about that, until the Queen arrived, looking a bit breathless & flustered. She admonished me for running in my socks ( just look at the state they’re in, covered with grass! ) and handed me my shoes, which I felt inordinately pleased about.

And that was it.

I know I like Prince Philip, and am a supporter of the Royal Family, but it’s the first time I’ve dragged his Highness into the sordid backwater of my sleeping mind.
And it was one of those vivid dreams, you know? The ones that seem so real you can almost smell / taste things in them.

And why Wetton station? Even back in the rose tinted memories of my childhood the only reason I ever went there was to catch the train into work, or when I was a wee lad, to catch tadpoles in the canal that ran past it. It’s not like it was a major influence or the site of any particularly traumatic/ memorable.
Posted by Mark :: 11:40 :: 1 Comments:

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