Funny dreams lately.
Last night I was with my wife and Bob Dylan and we had decided to go and watch the Cubs play the Padres.
Being poor we went to book our usual centre field tickets on the hill behind the kids sand pit but Bob started looking at the whole ground layout and wanted us to get a prime box in front of first base. The seats were very expensive.
'I'll just put it on my credit card,' said Bob in his nasal twang. The voice was dead right. I heard it in my head perfectly as if he'd really spoken the words out loud.
But Jenny didn't like it. She wanted it to be our treat and looked at me reproachfully.
I laughed. The guy is a millionaire after all.
The previous night we were on the top of some mountain in the Sierras and we met an old couple out walking some very strange animals. They were like big cats but with fanned trumpet ears like huge flowers. We asked if we could pet them and the owners said it was OK. They were nice at first, as we stroked them, but then they started biting our hands in a very aggressive and frightening way.
I could feel their teeth on my fingers and then my arms. There was blood.
I looked at the old couple for help but they were unconcerned.
'Oh, they eat people from time to time,' said one of them.
The dream transitioned somehow to a whiskey store in a castle dungeon. There were thousands of bottles but I could not find the whiskey I wanted. This last bit was a very mundane manifestation of my trouble finding a shop on-line in Australia near Rodney who will deliver a bottle whiskey to him for less than eight million pounds.
Rodney won this year's Fantasy Football league, The 07/08 Glenmorangie Snifter.
Well done him.
The lucky bastard.
