I don’t know whether it’s the weather or the perimenopause, but lately I have been having really vivid dreams and waking up bathed in sweat.
Hey, where are you going? Don’t you want to hear more about my sweat? I haven’t detailed the amount released, or the crevices of my body that are affected yet!
Well, if you’re still here, in last night’s dream I was sharing a crappy B&B room with a bunch of bitchy wags, owing to a double-booking error. The dream culminated in me, for some unfathomable reason, putting hair conditioner on my pubes, trying to wash it off over a wastepaper bin using a garden hose, and then storming down to the hotel reception to complain about the below-par facilities.
That proves what a boring cow I am; I’m even boring in my dreams. There’s always a prosaic element to them. Two nights ago, I dreamt I’d landed a copywriting job for an ad agency owned by 70s chat-show host Michael Parkinson. A client wanted to me to write some straightforward yet snappy copy about a hair-thickening product, but whenever I showed it to Parky, he was never happy. ‘I think we need to work in a Medieval theme,’ he’d say. ‘Maybe we could have a cartoon of a knight on horseback?’ and I’d have to go back to my desk trying to balance the requirements of the cosmetics company and my clearly deranged boss. Which I guess is not a million miles away from your average working day.
Anyway, let’s have a list. Here, in reverse order, are my top three disturbing dreams of all time.
3. I’d just died but was still able to walk and talk, and I was desperately trying to find all my friends and family to say goodbye before rigor mortis set in.
2. I was in bed, trying to read a book, while my husband and what I took to be his 20-year-old blonde mistress rolled around next to me. Occasionally he’d break off to sneer, ‘She’s so much better than you.’
1. I was shagging barrel-chested, bow-legged 80s icon Ian McShane off TV’s ‘Lovejoy’, who was dressed in a monk’s habit. And I was really enjoying it.
I tried to ‘interpret’ that last one using www.dreamforth.com, but sadly, there was no category for ‘shagging Ian McShane’. Although there were categories for ‘sandals’, ‘elderberries’, ‘obelisks’ and ‘walruses’. I’d welcome your explanations. Does it mean I have a fear of commitment? Do I need to embrace new work opportunities? Or does my medication need adjusting?