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Sunday, July 2 2017 Views: 233

I’m in a little seaside town that I think is Walton-on-the-Naze. I’m slowly making my way through a crowded, tobacco smoke filled hall, looking for someplace to sit down, but can’t find any. The overall atmosphere is one of nervous expectation. I hear someone say that George Ezra is here; I pay it little attention, but catch a glimpse of him over the crowd when I’m making my way out through the dark corridors.

Then it’s some weeks later and I get a chance to meet George in a more private setting – a little hotel where he is hosting a meeting for a small group of journalists and bloggers. I run into him in the garden near some rabbit hatches and he gives me a ginger kitten to hold. The kitten doesn’t yet have a name and I name it Peaches.


We go inside and sit on the floor in a white sunlit room, talking, and George gives me a ginger guinea pig to hold too. Both animals fall asleep – the guinea pig snug in my décolletage, but Peaches goes all floppy and slips under my right elbow. George hands Peaches back to me, laughing quietly at the kitten’s sleepy confused face.

We move to the dining room and I sit on the floor again, almost under the dining table. George searches for something on the table and hands me a white rat. I hug it, but it doesn’t fall asleep, though it doesn’t squirm or try to run away either. A woman walks past and tells up to hurry up; I think it’s George’s mother.


Then we go outside to the garden again where about two dozen people are waiting to have their questions answered. George sits me down in a white plastic chair and gives me a Pomeranian puppy. The puppy’s fur is ginger, but with the ends of the longest hairs black, and I think it looks shrouded in a dark cloud. Now I have my hands full of fluffy sleepy animals, the puppy’s fur tickling my face. I can barely contain giggles as I watch George answer the questions while playing a round of mini-golf.

Then we’re back by the rabbit hatches, sitting on the grass; I’ve put the sleeping animals in a row in the shadow. We talk about stress and what to do about it. I ask George: “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve done to relieve stress?” He answers: “This” and kisses me. The kiss seems to go on forever until I get a feeling like I’m slowly awaking from a dream.

I find myself sitting on a curb in an empty parking lot by a supermarket. In front of me is a shopping cart that holds two thin slivers of ice and a black notebook that I know is my dreamjournal. I feel dazed and disbelieving, but I know that there were two big blocks of ice I was transporting and that now have melted.

While I look around in a daze, some people walk past and one of them steals my dreamjournal. Not leaving it at that I outrun them and block the path. There are three policemen further down the path that I call over and ask them to search everyone. A quarrelsome brunette in mid-forties screams in indignation and throws my dreamjournal at me.

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