It takes me a second or two to shake off the fog of sleep and realise that the phone is ringing – impatient and persistent. I roll over and stretch out my arm to pick up the receiver before putting it to my ear. “Place your bets down on this evening’s football, great odds, free bets…”
What the fuck!
I look at the clock. It’s three in the morning.
Fucking hell! What are these cunts doing phoning me at three in the morning?!
“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing phoning me at fucking three o’clock in the morning—“
I suddenly realise that the voice is a recording.
I bend further down and look for the socket in order to pull out the lead – I want no more disturbances – but can’t find it.
I pick up the phone and throw it across the room hard against the wall but it merely bounces off and starts ringing again.
“Fucking three o’clock in the morning - unbelievable!”
I’m turning into Victor Meldrew.
I look up and see that my bedroom is as long as a football field. A door opens and people, tourists, start trooping through. Buffet food is laid out along tables and people are commenting upon the food.
Fucking cheek, what the bloody hell do they think they’re doing in my room, let alone house!
“FUCK OFF! THE LOT OF YOU!!!!!”
Nobody pays the least bit of attention.
“Don’t worry mate, they’ll soon be gone as they’re just passing by. It’s part of their tour,” this guy dressed as a coach driver says to me.
I spin on my heels and head out of another door into a garden. It’s the garden of the house I used to live in as a child but the grass is really green, with birds singing, a blue sky and the sweet and heady fragrance of jasmine permeating the atmosphere.
“This could have been all yours, but you’re a fool and a waster with no sense,” a voice admonishes me.
I feel small and useless. Ashamed. Embarrassed.
I awake and noticed that my wife is not in the bed. She has been having problems sleeping and has probably gone in the lounge.
I recall my dream and the absurdity, the non-sense of it. I conclude that ‘real life’ is also absurd but not as absurd as the dream state where nothing seems to make sense and wonder if there is a state of being in which we understand absolutely everything – a perfect state.
And then I think that there could also be an existence in which nothing, absolutely nothing, can be understood.
Dreams and nightmares. Sanity and madness. Light and dark. Life and death. Excitement and ennui…