dream diaries… 78



Walking the village, bottom to top; from the palm of shops – the butcher, the baker, the barber, the bookshop, the (burnt-out) Broken Biscuit Co-op – up, up the length of high street, up, up the length of Old Lyme Road, to the quiet site, hidden in the fog, of Cliff House…


They’ve erected a statue next to the crab apple tree. A statue of Ray Davies. I kneel at his feet. He leans into a microphone, guitar around his neck. The cables are black. They loop his Cubans. I trace their mess with a forefinger.

“They’re made of liquorice,” someone says.

“His boots?”

“Boots? Ha! No, the cables!”

“And the statue? Marble?”

“Marble?! Good Lord, no! Pure alabaster!”



James D. has bought a Brompton. He rides it with much gusto, bunny hopping pavements, straddling hills and even staircases.



As I leave the house for work, Fergus, the energetic Spaniel belonging to Mike W, bounds out of the shadow of the box where all the mail is kept. “Hello, hound,” I say. He says nothing, but barks what could/would be a sentence. He is growing fast.

“Take him for a walk?” asks Mike W. But I can’t – I’m off to work. This seems to aggravate Mike W no end and I have to run out the house. I turn to see if they are following me. They are.


10 thoughts on “dream diaries… 78

    1. Yes, me, too, Liz. The word ‘alabaster’ ringing in my ears as I wake up. Why alabaster? It is a mystery to me! In some ways more fantastic than a statue of RD in a childhood garden! I place particular significance to the idea that, somehow, with the word ‘alabaster’ on my lips when I wake that I have bridged the chasm between sleep and waking; between two worlds. It feels like magic. x

      Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s