Dreams are amazing collections of ideas. My brain regularly baffles me with the nuggets that turn up from the depths of my subconcious. I dream about folk I’ve never met, and not only Liam Neeson.
Last night it was you lot. Or some combination of bits of bloggy buddies.
A woman friend of mine (bearing a remarkable likeness to Mise’s black and white image) moved into the big house in the village. You know the sort of house- the one that used to be a bank, or where the doctor lived. She had teenage boys, who she admonished, Mary Poppins style, by singing to them. In Irish. One of the village elders called in to discuss the kitchen arrangements and chatted about how awful it was that the groups of rowan trees up where the Brother lives had been chopped down years ago, in the name of progress. I think she meant for houses with indoor toilets, but it’s just as likely to have been for Roman roads or a railway.
This woman was deeply mysterious, and was also the subject of a Radio 4 play. (Anybody?) Her husband supervised digging in Egypt, but I wasn’t clear how he could do this remotely, from the anonymous village. Nor was it clear if it was archaeology or mining. I must have woken before we got chatting properly.
Anyway, the dream involved a moody and dangerous to know football agent and men marking their territory by showing off their mobile phones. (Is that a thing?) One of the few references that I actually understood was that someone was being treated for breast cancer- Lisa’s cancer originated in her breast; last week she had surgery to remove tumours from her brain.
Some of you are women, some of you have teenage boys. Some of you have illness in the family. Some of you are musical, some of you are interested in football. Most of you probably have indoor toilets and mobile phones. At least one of you works in radio.
However I’d love to know if any of you are working in Egypt, even remotely.
And I’d be really keen to hear from you if you are Liam Neeson.