I Had A Dream


Dear Dream Analysis,
Last night I dreamt that we got marching down the Garvaghy Road. It was bloody marvellous. It was so good to touch the orange, orange grass of home. And at the end of it the family were completely united when David and Ian in their sashes did a little two-step before the beloved, decent, democratic, law-abiding people of this wee great province of ours.

Hopefully, this is a good omen.
The Brother,
Davy Jones.

Davy, a chara,
That was no dream but an old video from July 1995. I once knew a man called Padraig Barry Breen Bernadette McAliskey Sean Neeson who spent seventy years unsuccessfully applying for a job as a teabag caddy in the shipyard. My advice to you is similar to my advice to him. Forget it. Forget about getting down that road, take a drink like I do, stop reading that Old Testament crap about Sam and Dave (though I loved their '69 hit, 'Soul Sister Brown Sugar'), shave off the beard, put a stud in your tongue, get an Eee from Johnny, and bin that genetically-modified CD of Tom Jones. Feile an Phobail, Davy, runs from August 4th-13th and you are more than welcome to do the fun-run with me, you little-up-and-coming imp of an Irish rover! Loves ya.

Dear Dream Analysis,
I have this weird dream which infiltrates my everyday thoughts in which hair spontaneously erupts from my scalp. It is most embarrassing. I could be in the Assembly speaking for two days or doing a five-day TV interview when suddenly I have more hair than Paul Hill. And the 'tache! I look like Darkie Hughes on a wanted poster! What does this mean?
Yours etc.,
David Ervine MPA (topped-up, thanks to the GFA).

Mo chara, Alex Maskey, Ta bron orm. Mo chara, Davy II, mo chara. Spontaneous hair growth indicates spontaneous runaway thoughts. (For example, crocheted hair suggests a desire to sing at Di's going-away, like Elton John of the embroidered mane.) Interesting that you had nothing to say about what colour your new hair took. Blue-rinse could mean necrophilia and a gra for Di's very late aunt, Dame Barbara, who, like yourself, could recite a novel in ten minutes.

Black hair means negativity, fear, anxiety, resentment, guilt and depression (no hope, no faith). But if Davy, Mocha, you dreamt that you were a zebra-crossing you are neither a horse nor a big, fat Friesian, because B & W indicates that you are intolerant and simplistic.

If you had red hair in your dream that means that you are passionate and aggressive but the shade is important. Scarlet stands for lust, maroon frigidity, and red and white indicates a need for joy and hope (although the addition of blue suggests a desire for spirituality, religion, art, culture and philosophy). On the other hand, it could mean that you dream an awful lot about the Union Jack. Being colour-blind, the Tricolour always looks to me like a white flag (but, here, we're getting over that!)

Grey hair means that you are uncommitted and saffron hair indicates a desire to sleep with Brian White. A person with Orange hair or Green hair is totally incredulous, although battle-dress green represents difficulties with sharing. Pink hair indicates that the scalp-owner is colour-blind or on one of Johnny's Eees and that the mother did not give unconditional love at birth. Everybody else has brown hair and they are all bores. Sinead O'Connor who, like you Davy, has no hair, will, hopefully, unlike you, Davy, not be playing at this year's Feile, or any year's Feile.

Scumbag, your dead. But before I put you in the boot, tell me this: every night I have a nightmare involving numbers, the colour green and a ninety-year-old Tom Jones going on about 'home'.

Johnny, my dumpling, dare I say that you are paranoid? If in your dream your tee-shirt is white that means perfection, hope, faith, purity and enlightenment (even though, to your credit, you never found God, unlike Bill). If, in real life, your tee-shirt is white it suggests a fashion deficiency, banjaxed chromosomes and an ad from whom you can purchase Eees.

However, white also stands for pride, rigidity and immaturity, although soft or pearl white can indicate the gift of prophecy (a.k.a. "Pay me, or else"). Nostradamus was bald, yet had a full head of soft pearl, Richardson's flour, white hair, known in the trade as a wig. Johnny, get one, get a balaclava, new tonsils, a cause and a brain and you will be as right as ninepence.

Regarding numbers, Johnny, dare I say, it's easy? Twelve means a jury, but don't worry, nobody will convict you. And ten goes with a deal.

Dear Dream Analysis, In my sleep we are in an airplane, drinking gallons of free Brandy, on our way to the Galapogos Islands without Socratic Seamus. When we disembark thousands of those coloured people, beating Lambegs and wearing Orange sashes storm the plane and carry me shoulder high before I insist on doing a solo Darby O'Gill jig. Boy, in this movie, am I a great guy! What does this mean?

Yours etc., on headed notepaper,
Davy III.

As Bairbre would say, Failte romhat, Daithi agus Daphne, mo chairde, to the wrong, unpartitioned island. First Minister, there are no MPs in planet Galapogos. Indeed, there are no MPAs either. For all we know - and we will know when some sad A/T/N angry reader writes - Brookeborough is still PM, they practise Freemasonry and Voodoo and don't even have the vote - out there in the wasn't terrific, Pacific.

Mucker, mo chara, Flying through the air, I and my readers agree, indicates escape, that your feet are not on the ground. Personally, I think you have jumped too far, though dream-on, like Davy I.

Dear Dream Anonymous, For decades I have dreamt that my teeth are falling out and that I become speechless, overweight, faltering, plotless. What can this mean?
- Ian.
Firstly, that anthropologists should have good look at you because, boy, do you have some teeth, some cheek and some neck. Something amiss with one's teeth represents insecurity and an inability to get your teeth into something (like, humanity) or that you've bitten more than you can chew. Put your dropsied teeth under your pillow, make a wish, and look down on Eileen from ten feet.

Mister Morrison, Sure as hell glad to contact you. Been three days now without a full-night's sleep. Thought the Presidential election was troubling me but guess I was wrong. This 17-year-old nigger keeps coming to me over the wall, trying to get at my steak. Most upsetting to the guests.
- G. Bush.

Let's hope death row, Huntsville, Texas, haunts you every minute that your breathe air, put a glass to your mouth to drink, or a fork to your mouth to eat, that you live in hell for the rest of your days, and that Gary Graham is a peace in heaven among his kin.
- The People of West Belfast.

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© 2007 Irish Author and Journalist - Danny Morrison