Monday 18th June – I had an unexpected experience overnight when I was refused entry into my dream for adorning unsuitable footwear. According to the doormen vetting access to the portal providing my illusions of slumber, my wearing of moccasins exhibited overly pretentious hipster overtones. Leading to them barring my entrance.

In my pre-REM state, displaying a conciliatory manner, I attempted to remedy the situation by enquiring of the two officious bruisers “What do I need to do to gain access?”

“Change your shoes to something less bohemian.” responded the taller of the duo, who bore a remarkable similarity to British folk singer Ralph McTell.

“How do I do that? This is a pre-cursor to my overnight dream….. I’m not really wearing any shoes?” I asked politely.

“Not our problem, sir!” the smaller stockier doorman responded.

“How about if I slip you a few quid?….. A sweetener to turn a blind eye at my breach of the footwear protocol.” I asked seeking to extort entry into the REM phase of sleep..

“Why, have you got any money on you?” the Ralph McTell doppelganger queried.

“Errrrr, no. I don’t normally take cash on me on dreams…….. Do you take contactless payment by debit card?” I floundered uncomfortably.

“Have you got your debit card?” Ralph queried further.

“Errrr, no. I don’t usually take any of my financial product cards into my overnight illusions, either” I sheepishly spluttered.

“Look mate!” the smaller non-Ralph McTell like bouncer addressed me, “Even if you had your debit card, it’s unlikely you’d find any self-respecting doorman open to bribery by contactless payment….. Unlike cash in hand, it’s too easy to trace the payment.”


“How about if I give you an IOU?” I bartered desperately.

“What good’s an IOU?……. We are figments of your imagination who may never see you after your dream concludes.” the smaller doorman proffered firmly.

“Well, if you’re only a figment of my imagination why the hell do you want money from me….. Surely that’s no use to you either.” I argued, feeling I maybe treading on firmer ground in this bizarre pre-dream interaction.

There followed a short period of silence while the Ralph McTell (RM) look-alike and the smaller doorman (SD) exchanged glances as though telepathically seeking a resolution.

“I tell you what son.” SD addressed me patronisingly. “We’ve some shoes in the ‘Lost Property’ that fulfil entrance dress code procedures. Would you be prepared to swap into that footwear.”

“Oh ok.” I cautiously agreed. “Can you tell me what size shoes they are though?” I then sought to clarify.

“16 in UK size.” replied RM with a mischievous grin.

“16!!!….. Bloody hell, I’m a size 9…….. I just hope I don’t have to undertake any dancing in the dream!” I exclaimed.

“Don’t worry, sir. We’re not granting you access anyway….. That shirt is truly offensive.” SD responded, causing him and RM to laugh uproariously at my expense.

Consequently, I never got as far as fulfilling my need for REM sleep. Instead, I drifted back into consciousness with the real Ralph McTell’s voice playing in my cranial jukebox.

His thought-provoking lyrics highlighting there’s far worse things than forgoing the dream stage of slumber for one night……….


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