Tag Archives: dream

Direct Marketing, Kiwi Juice and Office Gossip

Another weird dream (real-world tie-ins in the footnotes). I?ve lost most of it in the intervening couple of hours, but it seemed to centre around a meeting with Steve B of LeoNCo (sorry, can?t give complete names here because search engines have a nasty habit of spidering my pages and giving them undue prominence in embarrassing situations [oops – that search used to bring my Christmas Party pictures up at #2] where a company forgets to build its own website). Steve wanted us to undergo a second merger, and he had a huge list of direct marketing companies from which I was to pick our new partner. I hadn’t heard of any of them1 (well, maybe one or two), and I insisted that he choose, as he knew the industry inside-out, whereas I only know the Internet side of things. But nevertheless he kept pushing me for a reply, sparking off some kind of quest for the ultimate below-the-line agency which took on epic proportions (would probably have made a good movie. Then again, maybe not).

At another point in the dream, I was making fruit juice, the hard way – with my hands. I had a huge tub (like a water butt: green, plastic and barrel-like) full of green fruit (mainly apples and kiwis). I kept pushing and squashing, trying to squeeze every last drop of moisture2 out of the fruity pulp. Bits of kiwi skin slithered between my fingers as I tried in vein to separate the flesh from the skin. I threw my weight on top of thick round sections of something seeming like pineapple, but which was actually apple, knowing that the stringy pulp must still be harbouring some liquid. However much I laboured, I could never be completely successful and I felt the frustration bitterly.

I can’t quite recall how the dream ended, but I do remember that it was during a formal gossiping session3 – a group of males from work each teamed with their female “work-wife” (a person especially selected for their complementary personality – the next best thing to a girlfriend during events where partners are not permitted) and the group sat exchanging “he never did”‘s, “she did what”‘s and “ooh he is, isn’t he”‘s

1:
At lunch yesterday, Joe had been talking about a Campaign report listing ad agencies – many of which he had never heard of. He was horrified (or faux-horrified or whatever) at the number of direct marketing agencies listed. 

2:
I seem to have spent a large proportion of the last two hazy alcohol-sozzled days squeezing juice out of lemons. In the morning, I wake up, boil the kettle, and drop a lightly-bruised slice of lemon into my cup of steaming water. At lunch time, I order mineral water and repeatedly squeeze the lemon wedge nestling among the ice, trying to stimulate the alkaline-forming effect to combat the effects on my stomach of the previous night’s drinking. In the evening, I order Bloody Mary in the assumption than anything tasting quite so evil must be doing a modicum of good. Peeping through the swirling red and brown is an incongruous speck of yellow or green that betrays the lemon or lime chunk hiding below the surface.

3:
Well, I’ve certainly been partaking in more than my fair share of gossip lately. And loving it.

I Need a Tekken-Style Combat Thing

This morning’s dream – I wanted a computer game, needed a computer game. I think it was some Tekken-style combat thing. I sent Hannah to buy it, but told her to get something as close as possible if they didn’t have the exact one – for some reason I just had to play something new. She came back with something very disappointing – must’ve been written around about the time when 286 PC’s were the latest thing and Windows 286 was the hottest operating system in town. Couldn’t bring myself to play it. Oh well.

The Mysterious Adventure Restaurant in the Woods

Had a wierd, wonderful and detailed dream – perhaps only remembered because I had to wake up at 4.30am to catch the train to London, and doing so caught me mid-dream. As is always the case, I remember very little of the details or the early stages of the dream, more of the feel of it. I was together with my family – extended version, the same people who accompany us to family camps (Gill, Rowan and Morgan, obviously, plus my Mum & Dad, Lib, John & Alice. I don’t remember whether Hannah and Jon were also there).

Our group had all been for a meal at some wonderful but bizarre restaurant – the restaurant was largely open air (or under that type of clear-plastic tent that you might find used to cover a patio). It seemed to fill a whole forest (of the old English beech variety – lots of big leafy spaces and a carpet of rust-orange leaves glowing from the floor) and other areas of countryside. We had finished our meal and paid, and were in the act of leaving when I discovered from the waiter that Guy & Annick were eating at the same establishment.

I had wanted to see Guy earlier, but he had told me that he had a prior engagement. Now I knew what it was. Of course, only being happy with the finest things in life, he had opted for the prime table in the restaurant – which was also the table deepest into the woods. Now, this restaurant you see played a little like an adventure game – to get through it you had to solve certain tasks and dodge certain adversaries. Some of these, of course, I was already familiar with, having dealt with them in the trek to reach our own table. But I was concerned at what challenges I might face later on in the game (and, of course, being an adventure game, the puzzles got tougher the futher one went). My family were disparaging, wanting simply to leave quickly, but they allowed me my whim. I gradually realised, with growing fear, that it would be more than this – it could take me hours, days, weeks to solve the remaining puzzles, and there was no guarantee that I would return alive – perhaps some cunning wood goblin would pick me off with an arrow, or another foe would vanquish me with similar ease.

But set off I did. The early puzzles, which I had solved once already, merely served to bore me. I remember cycling with Lib, John and Alice for what seemed like miles, up and down hills, waiting for the slower cyclists to catch up at the crest of every hill. Later parts confused me, and merged one into another. The restaurant’s mysterious gardener seemed to appear in many of them; a dark, mysterious figure in thick soiled gloves, he spent much of his time loitering in a greenhouse, and would not have looked out of place inhabiting a Thomas Hardy novel, the author giving him an unusual name such as Zadoc which sounded both noble and low.

Sadly, just as this dream starts to sound interesting, my memory begins to fade and merge. I did complete many tasks, got scared out of my wits on a number of occasions, puzzled over seemingly insoluble problems, but ultimately didn’t reach Guy & Annick (although I did find time to imagine their surprise on seeing me – “wow! We never expected to see you here, so glad you managed to track us down” – but tempered with a little uncertainty – they had obviously been dwelling on deeply personal matters and were somewhat uncomfortable at having their summit interrupted at a crucial stage).

beep beep Beep Beep BEEP BEEP BEEP! The alarm on my phone went, I leapt out of bed, and the mystery adventure restaunt in the woods disappeared into the back of my mind forever.