Boris, a chicken, other strange things

[smokingboot]

And there it was. If you want to know your own heart with clarity, if you want to know what’s making you awkward and anxious, pay attention to your sleep. It’ll tell you what’s going on , albeit with a lot of incomprehensible froth and bubble. Because what fun is a dream we fully understand?

Mine began with me standing in a row of men who all had to take their trousers and underwear off and stand in a line. For some reason I was with them, wearing a long tee-shirt which I pulled down and used to cover myself. Then there was the bizarre sight of Boris Johnson, ex PM, totally naked and corpulent slamming himself up and down on a dead chicken repeatedly. It didn’t look like sexual congress though the act was hard to categorise as anything else. A giant chute appeared and Boris was dragged down into it, trying to cling on by his fingernails.

Then came the real dream after all the bizarre juxtapositions of an exhausted mind. A stern looking nurse told me the cancer had returned. She even pointed out where it was. There’s the real nightmare, once seen and known to be put in its place among the phantoms, the what-the-hells and the maybe/nevers.

I am awake ready for coffee.

Comments

[flemmings]

Hugs for the nurse dream, chortle loudly at naked!BoJo and the chicken, which makes bizarre sense somehow. I may be thinking of Cameron and the pig: Tory pms have form for this sort of thing.

[smokingboot]

😆😆😆 I completely forgot Cameron!