A few nights ago Marita had an interesting dream… She was walking around in a gallery. The pictures hanging there all had big writing, saying things like “Fail!” and “Failure!”
She’s not sure what it refers to. (I could suggest blogging, but why now?)
For myself, I haven’t had any interesting dreams lately. Not that I can recall, anyway.
PS. As far as I know, she hasn’t been reading the Fail Blog.
Dream the other day: Dreamt we were thinking about converting the (small) spare room into a bedroom, and someone pointed out the house has a whole upstairs section that for some reason none of us had never noticed. We went up and found three more bedrooms (one tiny, with very narrow bunk beds) and a bathroom as well.
Something seemed funny about the stairs going up there, and when I looked, I realised they were very steep, but made of Lego, so they could be adjusted.
Jeremy, Isaac and I were being chased by kind of zombie-type things, that on-touch would change you from human into their kind. It was a bit like a cross between Shaun of the Dead and Rise of the Cybermen.
Somehow I knew it was a dream, but we kept on running. Isaac nearly got caught, but just escaped. I knew we had to get to somewhere called Bletchley Park, because that was where the resistance to the zombies was based. We’d be safe there. I think we’d almost made it, rowing down a river, when the dream ended.
Once I’d woken up I determined that Bletchley Park is a real place; it’s where the Allied forces had their code-breaking during World War 2.
Okay dream analysts, see what you can make of this one:
I was appearing on a Siegfried and Roy TV show. You know, those odd American/German guys with big cats (who stopped in 2003 when Roy was injured by a Tiger).
I was meant to lie down on my stomach, with my arms outstretched, and remain absolutely still while they put various substances on my hands, and then got the big cats to lick them off. I was scared stiff, but obeyed.
Apparently I survived, because later in the dream I was hunting through the Green Guide to find out when the show would be on — sometime on Channel 10 at about 3am, I think it was going to be.
Another odd dream last night:
A knock at the door in the morning. Four policemen, who seemed very tall, and seemed to have been drenched in the rain outside. I wondered why four of them — it must be serious!
They told me they were part of a fraud investigation, and that they couldn’t tell me much about it, but it related to unpaid bills*. They had brought a technician to sever my internet access (rather than getting the ISP to just flick a switch somewhere else). I protested, told them once it was cut-off I couldn’t show them my internet banking records.
They gathered some evidence and went away again.
Later at some stage, I was in the pub (no idea which one) talking to some friends (no idea which) about it, saying how probably any unpaid bills had gone to the wrong address**, some kind of morphed version of my street address and my postal (PO Box) address.
I saw my local MP***, and since I’ve met him a couple of times, I decided to speak to him about it to see how he could help.
Dream ends about here.
* Occasionally I forget to pay bills, particularly credit card bills, but they usually just accrue and charge me interest, rather than sending in the Fraud Squad. It’s got better since I’ve been setting them to pay in advance via internet banking.
** I got a letter the other day with some documents inside it, some of which had my address wrong.
*** Rob Hudson, just returned in yesterday’s election, and whom I refused a How To Vote card from when I voted. (I never take any of them.)
I had a dream the other night that I was in a code review with some of the guys.
For non-geeks amongst you, one of the key things about programming is to write your code in such a way that anybody else who reads it can understand how it works… and indeed so that you yourself can fully understand it when you read it again six months later.
So I was in this code review, and noting some issues with the code. And I said: “Look, I don’t want to single out any particular person, but some of this code… well it appears someone’s named this routine after Peter Brock.
“So we’ve got routine ‘Brocky’ with parameters ‘Peter’, ‘Holden’ and ‘Bathurst’. This makes no sense.”
The wacky dreams keep on coming. This one on the weekend involved walking Maisie (the dog) with Marita in Footscray Park.
But beware! Assassins! In a white stationwagon! They pulled up nearby and came attacking, with a syringe full of something to stab me with.
Maisie, being her usual cautious self, was not about to intervene.
But I managed to fight them off, and at one point, one of them was on the ground and I decided to kick him.
Which is where dream-world and reality merged, as I let out a kick in bed, which got Marita in the shin.
Fortunately, being a sound sleeper (eg nothing short of an aircraft landing in the street would wake her) she did not stir.
It’s been a funny weekend for dreams. On Saturday night I had an interesting one involving a bunch of my friends from high school, but set in the current time, riding bikes around late at night. But by far the best of the weekend was on Friday night/Saturday morning:
I was waiting at a kind of railway station, either in Italy (because there were Italian officials around) or Ancient Egypt (because it was decked out in an Ancient Egyptian theme).
Lots of people were waiting, for an official party from somewhere to arrive.
For some reason there was a toilet bowl on the platform, in full public view, and I decided to use it, for sitting-down activities.
I finished my business, and got up. But when I flushed, it became evident it was faulty, and … it send a giant turd flying through the air, which then landed on the platform and slid along before stopping.
Thankfully it missed my bag, which was on the platform, and several other items I had left lying around, including some children’s books, a couple of pairs of socks, and my old grey sneakers with the red laces. With some urgency I warned people not to flush the toilet. “Don’t! It’s not working! Another turd will fly out!”
At this point I had no shoes on, and was trying to find a pair of dry socks so I could put my shoes on, and put the other damp socks in a plastic bag before this official party arrived.
I was also trying to sort out which of the children’s books lying around were mine (hey, those two were given to my kids by my sister, I want to keep them!) and other people’s, which I didn’t want.
At one point I had to climb off the platform and balance on a ledge next to it… by the ledge was water, rather than railway tracks. Still, I hoped the train didn’t arrive and squash me or the Egyptian guy helping me get things back onto the platform.
Got it all organised, and the train arrived, but it wasn’t a train, just a bunch of officials walking along. They turned out to be various government people from different regions of Italy. Everybody stood as they arrived.
I must have been part of the greeting party, as I walked out of the platform area with them. At the front the senior greeting person (a manager from my work) was asking the government people how they had managed to get officially sanctioned political assassinations happening at just the right time to get bonuses for them, and implying that they might be corrupt.