I’ve always been a dreamer, as far back as I can remember. I’m so firmly planted in dreamland that I can even have vivid dreams while awake. It usually only happens when I am driving, cycling, or doing some other automatic task that keeps my hands busy and mind free.
This, I’m sure, should be of concern to everyone else on the road.
Last night, I had the most tremendous dream that the Philosopher has prompted me to share.
I was newly married to Prince Harry, see, so life was looking pretty rosy. [And by the way, as a child I never had any kind of romantic attachment to either young prince.] We were holidaying in a summer palace in Devon. The Cotswold stone of the building was conspicuously Oxford-like.
The palace was perched at the top of a hill leading down to a glistening black sea. It was tiered with differently gardened sections – some apple trees, some expensive seating where tea could be served, various outhouses. It was beautiful. But also windy.
Inside the palace, we were hobnobbing with Kate and William plus other royal guests. Dream Kate was decidedly shorter than her real life counterpart, and looked a lot like Mandy Moore, if I am honest. She was wearing a floor-length violet evening dress.
For some reason, I on the other hand was in jeans. (Inner social anxiety emerges? Though shrinking Kate down to my size definitely shows a certain strength of will in that area, don’t you think?)
Anyway, there was a plot to this dream, which I will presently come to.
Harry – who throughout the dream was suspiciously merging faces with the Philosopher – and I were taking a tour of the grounds. There was a model hut in one of the garden tiers, next to the country lane leading down to the sea. Inside this hut, every room was a small version of an IKEA exhibition, with perfectly unspoilt presentations of IKEA inbuilt cabinetry and furniture.
Tourist attraction, I guess.
In the kitchen, with its panelled grey plastic shelving, we bumped into Kate, who was having a conversation with someone we know from church, Rodney, in loud whispers. She heard us come in and quickly leapt (in her gown) out the window and starting running down the lane. We peered out to see her catching up with William who was in full tails, I add. They both picked up the pace and booked it down to the ocean where a getaway boat bobbed at the pier.
Harry and I were stunned. What exactly was going on? We asked Rodney to explain.
“You have to stop them!” He exclaimed, stressed, perspiring.
“You have to stop them before they kill the queen!!”
I do enjoy my dreams, quite a bit. They get even wilder than this one.