8th Feb - Dreams

I've always been rather fascinated by dreams, and more importantly, what they tell us. I remember the days of festive periods in years gone by, when I'd receive my 'Christmas cash'. I'd tell my Mother, and my Grandparents - somewhat clinically - to not bother buying me presents and to pop the Queen's face inside an envelope instead so I could choose my own items. (Mentally scarred by my 13th Birthday when Mum didn't pay attention in Clintons and I ended up opening a 'Happy 1st Birthday' card, or Xmas '96 when I asked Anna for a Toy Story rucksack and she came back with a 'Gargoyles' one instead, minus a receipt). 

I was never a recipient of pocket money throughout my childhood/teenage years, so if I wanted something, I had to wait. There were two 'intervals' for this during the year. The Summer, (my birthday), or exactly half a year later, at Christmas. It meant that if I wanted something during those months inbetween, I'd need to save back some of the gifted cash, and plan accordingly. (e.g. I always knew that the latest Pro Evolution game on PS2 would drop around September/October so I'd keep £40 back from the June). Safe to say, socially, I really didn't do much at all, because whilst my friends were gallivanting around the City on their weekend Pizza Hut trips, I simply didn't have the funds to partake in such activities, up until my 16th birthday, when I was able to start earning my own wages. 

This coincided with the end of a 6-year cinema hiatus, having seen Chicken Run in the Summer of 2000 as a treat for my cousin's Birthday. And so, wage packet and fresh debit card in hand, I marvelled in delight at the big-screen experience, as my teen chum Nathan and I used 'Man-Date Mondays' to catch Casino Royale. These weekly outings focused on collecting our £30 per week EMA (something you'll be unfamiliar with if your years of higher education were spent under a Tory dictatorship), and then splurging it on trips to the Bowplex, the Pool table in the local pub, or heading into our town centre and stocking up on CDs, Dominos, DVDs, and questionable aftershaves and body spray (Yes, this really was my text alert tone for a while, on the faithful Sony Ericsson walkman phone. Pay as you, Orange, livin' the dream).

Ffs Jake, stop waffling, what does all this have to do with dreams?, I hear you ask. Well when I'd receive said 'Christmas Cash', the first thing I'd do is run up the stairs in WH Smiths to the gigantic array of books, and sit on the floor, laying out all the publications on dreams, flicking through the pages and perusing which one(s) offered the best value for money in terms of dream depth analysis, variety of explanations etc etc. I was fascinated by my 'sub-conscious' (a phrase I'd learned from the marvellous Derren Brown), and every time I'd wake up, I'd hunt through the book to see the meaning of what I'd just imagined. Last night, I had a dream where - for the very first time - I heard a song in my dreams. Not a blurred, waffly one where you can just about make out a faint melody, but a real-life track complete with crystal clear lyrics. It was this one below, and it's an absolute banger. I don't quite know what that means in relation to my sub-conscious though...

.... If only I still owned my book.