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Dreams Fog on the Tyne 26/May/2003

I've not been dreamed that well recently, so this one's a bit hazy. It could even be that this is really two dreams, or the order's out, but I'll do my best to be coherent.

I am taken by my stage-mum to the set of the latest Harry Potter film, in order that she can pick some stuff up. Relishing the opportunity to see some famous people, I eagerly go along, but the only celebrity I see is Arnold Schwarzenegger, and I'm sure that nobody would believe it if I told them I had seen him.

I walk up some stairs, into a caravan-on-stilts. A television is blasting war. I see a picture of a mid-air explosion, in slow-motion. In front of the blast, I see two airmen sitting obliviously on the tailfin of an aeroplane. A piece of flak from the explosion glints in the sunlight, then carries on forward to decapitate each of the men, though I look away after the first, and exclaim that it is shocking what they put on television these days.

From here, I am transported to a sort-of school assembly hall, where the assembled audience and I watch a black-clad woman unleash feminist invective upon us. We all quite enjoy it, and she signs autographs later.

Walking out of the hall, I find myself in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, in a shopping centre (decidedly not the MetroCentre), with my friends. It's a typical 1990's development, with a UGC multiplex cinema and a Pizza Hut. Myself and a friend have a race into the cinema. I win (just), by using the handy ramp.

Inside the foyer, I find that my Unlimited Cinema card entitles me to put my belongings in a locker. Without hesitation, I put my jacket in, then slam the door shut, immediately realising that my card is inside, and the locker can only be opened with the card. I retire with my friends to Pizza Hut, in order to ponder the consequences.

"Of course," I think whilst ordering a Vegetable Supreme, "they should change it so that you have to put your card in before it locks. Maybe I'll suggest this to the young man in charge."

I go back to the cinema, and worry that the Geordie lad in charge won't understand me [much like the Mancunian McDonald's manservant who couldn't understand that "large chips" means the same whereever you come from]; and I also notice that a rather long queue of harrassed-looking pushchair-wielders has formed.

At this point, I also notice that I've still got my jacket on.

 
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M. J. Middleton said:
I do have to say, that is quite an inriguing dream. I admit I've had much stranger dreams, but this is, very peculiar. In my opinion I believe it's a bunch of scattered memories. (As most dreams are.) Well, I must take my leave. Good day.

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