I am attending a wedding reception in an L-shaped room. The entire assembled body of guests comprises one half in St. Ninian's uniforms, and one half in Williamwood uniforms. I and ten others walk in, and cannot find a seat. We end up sitting around my own dining-room table. The wedding continues, until a fight breaks out. I play no part in it, but I end up sitting outside an office with some disgraced people. I am confident of being exhonerated, but then a character, somewhat like that reprehensible boy in Grange Hill, says he's going to play dead, and then see me sent down for murder. Not seeing the abject lack of logic in his suggestion, he and others are surprised when the setting is transposed to a sub-tropical jungle. We hear reports that an aeroplane has crashed outside San Diego airport. Looking up, I notice that the roof has gone, and what was an office is now a burning wreck, topped with fragments of plane. I then see actor Rob Lowe talking to accident investigators. He is explaining that he is starring in a film where the exact same crash occurs.
I am at a school talent show. For some reason, Elton John puts in an appearance. At the end of the show, the entire cast of the show, including myself, sings a song in unison. I am standing next to a young English boy. I ask him what he did in the show. He explains that he played a piece on his recorder. "Very nice," I reply, courteously. He counters that he and I both know that he didn't have to audition for the show.
I am in Edinburgh, with my brother. We notice a thrill ride up ahead. About forty people sit on chairs, which are on either side of three spoke, which radiate from a tall tower. Once they are lifted to the top, they are released, and parachute to the ground. I decline to participate, whilst my brother goes off to try. I notice that the entire surroundings are encapsulated in a room of a house. There are four rooms, one on each side of a square, central hall. I enter another, and relax in the wood-panelled splendour of the room. I can recline on a dark-red chaise, if I so desire. I return to the peculiar ride with curiosity. I am guaranteed to have a non-scary ride by the operator. I sit in one of the seats, and the tower starts to rotate. The spokes move up and down, but not very high. I am settled, as it is rather sedate. Suddenly, I hear the ride operator shout, "This is for you, Derek Murray." The spokes shoot skyward.
I am in an archæological expedition that wishes to uncover historical things in the sewers of Glasgow. I and my two partners must enter the sewers by way of an improbably narrow (about one foot) drain, on the side of a building. I am uncertain about going inside, and one of my fellows asks me whether I can bear the stench that eminates from the opening. I remark that it smells quite awful, and they reason that I don't find it unbearable. I therefore enter the sewer, which is the shape of a genie's bottle, with tiles on the wall. We set off in the direction of the artefacts.
I am motorcycling west, along the Clydeside Expressway, though, inexplicably, towards Greenock. We enter a tunnel. I am in the inside lane, because I have never ridden a motorbike before, and therefore am a little nervy. Strangely, the roadway of the inside lane begins to rise (or the ceiling above lowers), as I proceed. I am worried about moving out a lane, as the cars are rushing past. Therefore, I lean over to the left. Eventually, I am riding horizontally, and I come to a halt in pitch-darkness. I stumble about, disorientated. I can feel an earthy ledge, and I reason that I should be able to jump off that, to safety. I make the short jump of little more than two metres, and find myself in a park with my friends. There is grass on the ground, and trees all around.
Thank you for reading the biggest amount of crap I have ever written. It warms my heart. They are all true dreams, though, so don't get the wrong idea. It's just...