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I dreamt of our London house. Though things were a bit different and it was transposed into a fictional part of London full of history and statues, rather than Shepherd's Bush, full of people shitting outside churches. The dream is often better than the reality. My house now had a shared front door and a grand stair case. I flipped the light switches and the downstairs light came on (which supposedly shouldn't happen in dreams) but the upstairs one didn't. I was pushed in the back as I flicked the switch and woken by my son.
And now I was back in the real world. Or was I? What if this is the dream and the spooky Shepherd's Bush is my reality? Seems unlikely. I'd have got that light working. Eventually.
It reminded me though of a recurring aspect of dreams that I have where I have a house in south South London - I am not sure exactly where, it's so south. I am pretty sure I don't have a house in South London, but in my dreams I often do and usually it's a house that I've forgotten that I bought (how rich does my dream state think that I am). It's really big - in fact from the attic you can access another house next door that apparently belongs to me (by the rules of finders keepers) and it has an amazing garden. Even if it's in Morden this place must be worth 5 million.
I remember the dream where I first went round there and in subsequent dreams I remember it (but as reality), though I have usually forgotten about it to begin with. And the rediscover is not one of joy, not just because it's in such a dodgy location, but annoyance at realising all the unpaid bills and repairs I will have to do on this house that I never wanted.
Dreams are so random and stupid that it's always strange when there's consistency between them. It's like if the Universe of the Simpsons existed in Breaking Bad and there were occasional crossovers and no one thought it was weird (obviously that could happen in the Simpsons, but it'd be weird in Breaking Bad).
I can understand about dreaming about my actual old house, however poorly remembered, but I dream about the house I never owned (or did I? In another life?) more often. And how can one dream be so powerful to infect so many others? It's weird.
We may be moving this year, so that explains why I'd be dreaming about this. Some people came to look at our house today, whilst we all walked the dog and looked for firewood and the estate agent was what's apping us very specific questions, which suggested that the people might be keen.
I like it here so am in two minds about this, but mainly I am behind the move. But we've been here for my son's entire life and it's a lovely village and a terrific home so it's bound to stir up emotions (especially for Ernie).
What will become of my stones? I guess I'd better double my efforts.
