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Crazy Dreams!

Mar 18

Crazy Dreams!


Normally, I don’t dream.  Or if I do, I don’t remember them once I wake up.  Recently though, I have had some mad adventures in dream-world and I thought I’d share a couple of the more notable ones on the blog.

A couple of weeks ago, my sleep was amazingly fucked-up and I wasn’t sleeping properly at night, which left me drained during the daytime and in need of a nap come the afternoon.  On the day in question, my son was at college and at about 2 pm I decided to take a short nap to revilatise myself.

I don’t remember how I got there, or indeed what I was actually doing there.  What I do remember is that I was appearing live on stage at The Sands Casino in Las Vegas.  I should point out that my singing is awful, but here I was at The Sands.  But that’s not the craziest part of this dream.

The most memorable part was that I appeared on stage with the infamous “Rat-Pack” of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr. fellow Brit, Peter Lawford and Joey Bishop.  I clearly remember dueting with Sinatra to his classic, I’m Gonna Live Until I Die and yes, the audience went so crazy that we reprised it three times.


So if this wasn’t mental enough, when we weren’t on stage, I got to hang-out with Sinatra.  I called him Frankie and he called me Bobby.

The “broads” as Frankie called them, were throwing themselves at us and we would take two each to bed.  I was sad when my nap ended and I parted company with Frankie, Deano and Sammy to once again return to my uneventful life. 

Later that night I laid in bed thinking about that most wonderful of dreams and hoping that I could once again find myself in Vegas…but to no avail.  But the memories of that afternoon nap will stay with me for many a day.

But that wasn’t an end to my crazy dream cycle.  The other night I had the most bizarre dream of the lot.

It started off normal enough, but it gradually got crazier as the dream progressed.  Entering a normal but busy bar I ordered a bottle of rum – which is in itself is crazy as I don’t drink rum and can’t even remember the last time it passed my lips.  But still, there I was, ordering a whole bottle of the stuff.

When the barman came back with my request I reached into my pocket to pay him and pulled out a huge wad of £20’s.  I remember giving him two and telling him to keep the change.  In response, he thanked me and signalled to someone at the back of the bar.  I didn’t see who.

Before I could pour my first shot of rum, two members of staff, who I presumed came from the back of the bar, approached me and asked if I would go with them.  They escorted me through the crowded bar into a much more relaxed area.  No crowds and comfy chairs to sit on.

There was a cabaret and the whole environment was very burlesque, like scenes from The Killers video for Mr Brightside.

Enjoying my rum and the cabaret, it wasn’t long before I was approached, almost aggressively, by a woman who sat on my lap and began snogging my face off.

Of course, it’s always the case that when things start to get interesting in dreamworld, you wake up.  And so it was for me, but like the Sinatra dream it remains fresh in my mind.

I dare say that a good therapist could tell me all manner of things about my mental health, character and personal psychology.  But it was certainly fun while it lasted.


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