Dreams after a night of drinking and curries, and having to deal with my newly-ex-girlfriend. All the dreams seemed to rotate around a mountain, and I’m not sure of the chronology.

The first has me climbing a mountain with two companions – their faces are gone. We’re trying to get to a particular point, but when we get near it, there’s a gang of thugs/bullies there. Leastways that’s how we treat them, though they don’t appear to be doing anything wrong, except standing on a ledge. I go ahead and try and deal with them. As each rushes me, I pull the chunk of mountain he’s standing on away, and he plummets down the extremely steep, but still sloping, mountainside. This continues until the second to last man, a large-nosed, bald man with large eyes and protuding chin. He wears a jerkin, tough thick cloth trousers, but everything’s grey. I’m holding onto to a crack in the rock by one hand, but I see it;s the next rock – pull it and I lose my grip too. I pull it anyway, and the gray man topples, leaving the last one, a blindingly white dressed man with red/blonde hair, and as I pull the last stone from under our feet I see it’s the side of the mountain and it sheers off, sliding into the deep river at the bottom of the mountain, which I only see from a distance. I don’t know what happened to my friends.

The second has me having walked up the other side of the mountain, much gentler, to a cave where my Jewish Grandma is having a soiree. I don’t see her, but my mum is there, or at least for a moment, then I’m serving champagne to a lady with a large face and pearls, and I spot on the side of the bottle 800 calories per glass, so I tell her. She’s not happy, and tells her friend so.

The third dream is inside a compound at the other end of the path from the cave. I’m inside an office or compound or something and I’m trapped and we all know implicitly what the only way out is . so everyone else goes into the next room, while I put something into the sink, and start running the water. Then I stand on my head on the plughole and wait for the waters to rise. I keep slipping, so this happens several times, and while it’s happening I try to think how this is going to help. Eventually, when the waters at the rim of the sink, I realise it isn’t, unless we’re planning to break the door down with water pressure.

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GriddleOctopus

There are few harder things in life than introducing yourself, especially in print where mellifluous nuance can turn to indulgent wankery. So. I am definitely a 'writer'. You could also call me an 'artist'. I could probably put the words 'designer' and 'consultant' here too, but they feel crass.

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