Last night I had a dream involving Faris Badwan, lead singer of The Horrors. It was night, we were both on our way to London and we were flying. We both sported wings you see. Giant seraphic wings of a two metre span.
I was dressed in my talismanic navy blue pinstripe suit, powder blue shirt and black tie. He in some sort of vaudeville cloak. My wings were grey, with brown arrowhead tips on the large primaries. His, naturally, were black. I was carrying my brown holdall containing all my belongings which was dangling awkwardly between both my arms. It was clearly a struggle for me to fly when carrying such as large bag and for practical reasons, I couldn't well carry it on my back. Faris was unencumbered by any luggage. He had everything he needed.
Lost on my way to London and noticing a fellow traveller, I grabbed a hold of the nearest thermal and ambled across. I realised who it was almost right away. He greeted me with a rather contemptuous grin.
"You took your time getting up here didn't you?"
"What do you mean?" I shouted across the wind.
"London obviously," he said, gesturing at the cluster of amber lights now clearly visible on the horizon. I should perhaps mention that the rooftops below were all at crooked angles, like the backdrop from a German Expressionist film.
Faris shook his head. "You should have come straight up here after finishing university. You really didn't have an excuse not to, you know?"
"I-"
"I wouldn't worry," he continued, not even bothering to listen to me. "You look like you know what you're doing. You'll probably be OK."
I feel a sudden rush of air beside me which is accompanied by the clap of another pair of wings. From the corner of my eye I spied a pallid slip of leg, emblazoned with an all too familiar daisy-chain tattoo.
Oh no.
They pair up in mid air and brandish what appear to be wedding rings. They offer me sideways glances and smile, as if they expect me to be jealous. This puzzles me. I glance down at the wristwatch which I apparently have - a huge, clunky steampunk-esque thing which displays the time in bright green digits. My overly ornate timepiece reveals that this dream is taking place sometime in 2008, a year ago.
I start laughing at the happy couple. This is not appreciated.
"I wouldn't worry," I parrot back at Faris. "You'll probably be OK." I laugh at them again, turn in the air and fuck off out of there, pitching and yawing between wonked chimney pots as I continue on my way up to the Big Smoke.
He won't know that in about a year's time she'll itty off to New York and pair up with someone else. They might remain on good terms, stay friends and may even hook up again in the future. They may be just as happy as they are now, or happier, if that's even possible.
But it doesn't matter. I've glimpsed the future through the seeing orbs of the London Lite and the Metro. I've got one up on them because I know what's going to happen to them.
They don't who I am, what I do or what I'm capable of. He's right though. Whatever happens, I'll probably be OK.
The new office should be open soon. I'm not sure what to make of this dream, what it might mean. Perhaps I should avoid red wine and posh cheese before bedtime.
No comments:
Post a Comment