Unexplainable Tales During Torpor

Possibly as a consequence of inadequate sleep longevity, I don’t normally recollect my dreams. This morning, though, being woken by a phone call during a deep sleep enabled me to recall random neurological meanderings during slumber.

Please bear in mind this blog is the transcription of this dream and as such is absolutely flipping nuts!……. Warning – Enter this blog at your own peril!!


The location of my ‘Tales During Torpor’ was in Sydney, Australia, where my brother Ian and me were visiting our cousin Jon. The dream started with us taking a train from Jon’s home in the suburbs to an Antipodean outdoor sports stadium.

Jon’s dad (Ian and my uncle Bernie) couldn’t make it. When I say he couldn’t make it, I really mean he responded “Do I bollocks! I’ve never liked you!” when we asked if he was coming along to spectate.

We got to the packed stadium at around midday! The expectant crowd sat in excitable anticipation, while quaffing the decent Aussie beer that they won’t share with the UK. You could cut the atmosphere in the venue with a knife, or you could have if security hadn’t have confiscated it at the turnstiles for security reasons.

We sat high at the back of the stadium. I was going to write that Jon bought tickets in that area of the ground so we could get a birds eye view. However, that’s not correct he just didn’t want to shell out a lot of cash on decent tickets. Even in dreams he’s a right tight get!

As I looked down from my lofty perch, the green expanse of the field below seemed to replicate the huge emerald ring of the woman sat in front of me.

The view from the cheap seats……..

view SCG

The uproarious and good natured atmosphere in the stadium never diminished throughout the day. Although, I was politely asked by the husband of the women in front to stop staring at her emerald ring……. That isn’t a euphemism, by the way!

There was a seemingly endless wait for the gladiatorial action to commence. We weren’t there to literally watch gladiators; it’s a figure of speech.

At least I don’t think we were. I’m actually not sure what the tens of thousands of onlookers had gathered for, as early evening (after no one took the field below all day) we joined the melee of spectators leaving to go home. I use the term spectators loosely as there hadn’t been anything to spectate!

Perhaps my brother, cousin and I had just “witnessed” the first ever day of invisible Test cricket. If we had I’ve no idea how the action unfolded on that sunlit summer’s day in south eastern Australia.

If it was, I suspect it hadn’t gone well for the English after overhearing a departing Aussie telling his mate “The Poms were a shower of crap today!” and “Ben Stokes is a bit overrated, isn’t he?!” It added to my confusion, but you can’t legislate for the avenues navigated by the dreaming mind.

A selfie – Me, my bro and the invisible Joe Root!

bruvver 2

As we left the huddled throng of the crowd outside, Ian and I noticed that we’d been separated from Jon. This concerned us as we didn’t know how to get back to his house outside of Sydney.

In a blind panic our Ian asked a bloke in a carrot fancy dress outfit “Have you seen a bloke with light brown hair, medium build about 5’ 9” wearing a blue t-shirt and grey shorts?!”

I wasn’t hopeful of a positive response as there had been thousands of guys around the ground who answered that description. Add to that we were asking a drunk bloke dressed as a root vegetable and the odds he’d assist us to finding our cousin were remote.

I’m assuming this guy had gone to the game (whatever it was) dressed as a carrot and didn’t normally adorn that attire. One thing we were sure of was it wasn’t a real carrot, as he responded “Sorry mate, I can’t see a bloody thing in this outfit!”

“Have you got Jon’s address, Gaz?!” I was asked by my bearded sibling. Our kid was in a blind panic that if we didn’t to our cousin’s abode soon he’d miss the show ’10 Things You Didn’t Know About Harold From Neighbours’ on Channel 7.

“I’ve got a piece of paper with an address on!” I responded sheepishly.

“Is it his address?” my brother questioned.

“I’m not sure! I’d say probably not, E!” I retorted equally as sheepishly. (E is the shortening of the name Ian).

“Why probably not?” Ian countered.

“It says 38 Acaster Road, Chimley Estate, Derby, England” I advised my bro.

Ian shook his head, muttered something disparaging under his breath; while we then headed towards the local train station.

At the station we engaged in conversation with a man at the taxi rank, He was wearing a train driver’s uniform and looked remarkably like our uncle Bernie with a false moustache.

After hearing our dilemma, he guided us down a long tunnel to our return transport. He pointed at the carriage 20 yards away and advised “This should get you to your cousins family domain.” He then started laughing maniacally before evaporating before our eyes in a cloud of smoke.

Ian and I slowly walked into a carriage of what soon became apparent was an airplane cabin, where we were guided into our seats by a member of the crew and told to buckle up.

My brother and I exchanged glances of bemusement, before Ian exclaimed “Surely we don’t need to get an aeroplane to get to the outskirts of Sydney, Gaz!” Equally as puzzled as my younger sibling, I concurred with his transporation theory.

As the plane started taxiing toward the runway, Ian was informed by a cabin crew member that this was a flight to Manchester, via Dubai. He asked if it stopped anywhere on the outskirts of Sydney, as we needed to get to our cousins.

The crew member who looked like our cousin Jon with a false moustache didn’t answer. Like the taxi driver earlier, he disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

As the plane was about to take off in my dream, I was woken by a phone call from my son Jonny (not my cousin Jon). After the usual greetings, in my disorientated state I’m sure I heard him ask “Will you bring me back a Sydney Harbour bridge fridge magnet, dad?”

To close, I just want to say to my cousin Jon I’m disappointed with you and Bernie’s efforts at getting our Ian and me back to chez White. Additionally did you record last night’s ’10 Things You Didn’t Know About Harold From Neighbours’ on Channel 7? ………. Oh and how much do I owe you for the invisible cricket tickets?!

Harold from Neighbours – There are apparently 10 things you don’t know about him…….  Unless you’ve watched yesterday’s ’10 Things You Didn’t Know About Harold From Neighbours’ on Channel 7, in which case there isn’t!


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