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sabremeisterI think I may as well write this down, seeing as how it's my most clear dream in absolute ages.
I'm at a party. It's a New Year's party, in the grounds of a stately home. Probably in some obscure country in Eastern Europe somewhere in the region of Romania, because there's things like thick snow on the ground and a whole sort of, I dunno, Ruritanian feel to the place. It's one of those countries where English is widely spoken, otherwise there wouldn't be any foreign business or tourists or whatever.
Anyway, the house is huge. We're actually in a sort of courtyard formed by three wings of the house, which is a sort of ligh-brown stone with lots of windows. Reminded me a bit of Blenheim. It's got a HUGE staircase leading from the courtyard to something like the fifth floor - huge wide stone steps, big stone balustrades, absolutely straight. I'm having fun - dancing, drinking, chatting to people. I didn't recognise anyone, and it was fairly warm despite the snow, and from the distinctly different styles of dress, I'm guessing that more than half the female guests were locals. Anyway. At one point, I make it to the top of this huge staircase, climb onto one of the balustrades, and surf down it. That is, I slide down it, whether because I've got non-grip soles on my boots, or because it was icy, or maybe bcause I was standing on a tea tray, whatever - I came all the way down upright. I think it may have been a tea tray, 'cos I remember jumping off just as I got to the bottom. I remember staggering round excitedly after that grinning wildly, but not much else.
I wake up on the floor of a posh hotel room with a hangover. And I know I have to get packed and ready to leave in about an hour. And I know that ... whoever, the person I'm travelling with, whether personally or as part of the package deal I'm on or whatever ... is waiting for me in such-and-such a place.
I stand up, stagger around a bit (it really is a sumptuously posh hotel room), and next thing I know, I've got my bag on my back and am entering a rather non-descript room which is being used as a sort of meeting point for everybody. It's in at least two partitioned-off halves. Now this is where I get hit by some background information - the country I'm in has recently (say, in the last four hours, or so) has had a revolution. It was pretty moralistically straight-laced before, but now it is even more so - Victorian era, almost. Anyway, all visitors must submit to some sort of search before being allowed out of the country, so we're being delayed.
In the first half of this room is a couple of tables where people are having the contents of their bags checked. There is also a woman in crimson with a notebook, making notes, in between harranguing a younger woman who looks a bit like her, wearing black. I'm waved through into the other half of the room, where I find my travelling companion, dump my bag and begin to chat. Within seconds, we start to hear the sounds of a fight from the other room. I wonder what it is. Crashes and thumps, and so on. I go and have a look, anything's better than hanging around here bored.
It's the woman in crimson, she's beating up the one in black, and no-one is doing anything about it. She's shouting at her, hitting her, has driven her back into a corner, and she's on the verge of tears, not doing anything to strike back. This is too much for me. I march forward, grab the woman in crimson by the shoulder, haul her back, and slug her. I tell her I hate bullies. She pushes past me and disappears. I ask the one in black if she's alright. Yes. She was at the party last night, I recognise her. Her mother didn't want her to go, thinks it was a disgraceful event - apparently it was an evening of debauchery and dancing and drinking and other deplorable things. Odd that, 'cos I don't remember the locals doing much dancing, and there was no physical contact between any of us there. Her mother? The one in crimson, who at that moment reappears, carrying a weapon. About six inches of lead pipe, I think, or maybe a dagger. Anyway, she's coming for me with it. I grab a chair - one of those flimsy metal & plastic ones you get in schools - and whap her across the arm and the face with the legs. She disappears, which I don't find at all odd. The one in black starts sobbing, flings her arms around me, and the next thing I know, I'm in court, in the dock, defending myself against assault charges and interfering with officials in the course of their duties.
I point out that she was assaulting her daughter. They say so what? They say I hit her with a chair. I point out she had a weapon, and if I wanted, I could have hit her with the back of it, doing her serious damage. They say I interfered with the legitimate surveying of foreigners luggage for proscribed items. Since this basically involved going through people's things looking for alcohol, sexy underwear, and Discworld books, I called them fucking prodnoses. What does it matter what visitors take out of the country? Presumably, as proscribed items, they want to get rid of them anyway, yes? This didn't go down too well. Next thing I know I'm in a cell.
Apparently it was a few hours later that I got a visitor. It was the daughter. She has a plan to escape. No, I don't know what it was, because the next thing I know, it's a few days later, and I'm back in Britain, telling everything that happened to my mates down the pub (non-existant mates, unknown pub), bemoaning the fact that I can never go back to that country ('cos it was a really nice place, y'know), and apparently shacked up with said daughter.
I'm at a party. It's a New Year's party, in the grounds of a stately home. Probably in some obscure country in Eastern Europe somewhere in the region of Romania, because there's things like thick snow on the ground and a whole sort of, I dunno, Ruritanian feel to the place. It's one of those countries where English is widely spoken, otherwise there wouldn't be any foreign business or tourists or whatever.
Anyway, the house is huge. We're actually in a sort of courtyard formed by three wings of the house, which is a sort of ligh-brown stone with lots of windows. Reminded me a bit of Blenheim. It's got a HUGE staircase leading from the courtyard to something like the fifth floor - huge wide stone steps, big stone balustrades, absolutely straight. I'm having fun - dancing, drinking, chatting to people. I didn't recognise anyone, and it was fairly warm despite the snow, and from the distinctly different styles of dress, I'm guessing that more than half the female guests were locals. Anyway. At one point, I make it to the top of this huge staircase, climb onto one of the balustrades, and surf down it. That is, I slide down it, whether because I've got non-grip soles on my boots, or because it was icy, or maybe bcause I was standing on a tea tray, whatever - I came all the way down upright. I think it may have been a tea tray, 'cos I remember jumping off just as I got to the bottom. I remember staggering round excitedly after that grinning wildly, but not much else.
I wake up on the floor of a posh hotel room with a hangover. And I know I have to get packed and ready to leave in about an hour. And I know that ... whoever, the person I'm travelling with, whether personally or as part of the package deal I'm on or whatever ... is waiting for me in such-and-such a place.
I stand up, stagger around a bit (it really is a sumptuously posh hotel room), and next thing I know, I've got my bag on my back and am entering a rather non-descript room which is being used as a sort of meeting point for everybody. It's in at least two partitioned-off halves. Now this is where I get hit by some background information - the country I'm in has recently (say, in the last four hours, or so) has had a revolution. It was pretty moralistically straight-laced before, but now it is even more so - Victorian era, almost. Anyway, all visitors must submit to some sort of search before being allowed out of the country, so we're being delayed.
In the first half of this room is a couple of tables where people are having the contents of their bags checked. There is also a woman in crimson with a notebook, making notes, in between harranguing a younger woman who looks a bit like her, wearing black. I'm waved through into the other half of the room, where I find my travelling companion, dump my bag and begin to chat. Within seconds, we start to hear the sounds of a fight from the other room. I wonder what it is. Crashes and thumps, and so on. I go and have a look, anything's better than hanging around here bored.
It's the woman in crimson, she's beating up the one in black, and no-one is doing anything about it. She's shouting at her, hitting her, has driven her back into a corner, and she's on the verge of tears, not doing anything to strike back. This is too much for me. I march forward, grab the woman in crimson by the shoulder, haul her back, and slug her. I tell her I hate bullies. She pushes past me and disappears. I ask the one in black if she's alright. Yes. She was at the party last night, I recognise her. Her mother didn't want her to go, thinks it was a disgraceful event - apparently it was an evening of debauchery and dancing and drinking and other deplorable things. Odd that, 'cos I don't remember the locals doing much dancing, and there was no physical contact between any of us there. Her mother? The one in crimson, who at that moment reappears, carrying a weapon. About six inches of lead pipe, I think, or maybe a dagger. Anyway, she's coming for me with it. I grab a chair - one of those flimsy metal & plastic ones you get in schools - and whap her across the arm and the face with the legs. She disappears, which I don't find at all odd. The one in black starts sobbing, flings her arms around me, and the next thing I know, I'm in court, in the dock, defending myself against assault charges and interfering with officials in the course of their duties.
I point out that she was assaulting her daughter. They say so what? They say I hit her with a chair. I point out she had a weapon, and if I wanted, I could have hit her with the back of it, doing her serious damage. They say I interfered with the legitimate surveying of foreigners luggage for proscribed items. Since this basically involved going through people's things looking for alcohol, sexy underwear, and Discworld books, I called them fucking prodnoses. What does it matter what visitors take out of the country? Presumably, as proscribed items, they want to get rid of them anyway, yes? This didn't go down too well. Next thing I know I'm in a cell.
Apparently it was a few hours later that I got a visitor. It was the daughter. She has a plan to escape. No, I don't know what it was, because the next thing I know, it's a few days later, and I'm back in Britain, telling everything that happened to my mates down the pub (non-existant mates, unknown pub), bemoaning the fact that I can never go back to that country ('cos it was a really nice place, y'know), and apparently shacked up with said daughter.
