One of the greatest moments I ever had was the classic falling dream.
I was edging along a rockface with just finger tips and toes for grip really. Below rocks and the sea.
And I fell.
And I woke up exactly at the millisecond I had rolled off the edge of bed.
So woke! Agh!
Hit the floor! Aaaagh.
I think I lay on the floor laughing at the double whammy for ages.
I’ve had that two or three times, once in bed at home, I was crossing the road at a set of lights, it was patently obvious in the dream where I was, at the junction of The Cut and Waterloo Road, by the Old Vic theatre.
For some unknown reason I was walking very slowly, as if taunting the traffic, then the lights went green and a single decker bus moved off slowly and gently nudged me, as if to say, “Hurry up you ******.”
In the dream I kind of rolled around the bus’s headlight, and BANG, I hit the bedroom floor, gashing my upper arm on the corner of the small chest of drawers by the bed.
I could feel the warm ooze of blood slowly running down my arm, and as I take a blood thinning med, I knew that it was not going to stop quickly, so I grabbed a towel from the laundry hamper, and wrapped it around my upper arm.
I knew that if I had got claret all over the bed, the enemy would not have been impressed, but she would suffer putting the towel in soak.
I did virtually the same thing in a rented vacation home in Georgia once, but the bed was about a metre high from the bedroom floor, and I hit the nightstand just above my eye on the way down, resulting in the beige carpet getting a claret respray.
There was no concealing that from the enemy, resulting in my poring over the Yellow Pages to get a home visit carpet cleaner.
He did an excellent job for a couple of hundred dollars, but he couldn’t stop laughing at my black eye.
I had visions of him dropping a dime to the County Sheriff, “Hey Billy-Bob, I think that a limey has offed someone at Tybee Island.”
