...that I was about to score the winning goal in the final of the FA cup, only for Roger Whittaker to catch my eye and say in a low voice "you want to watch out for seagulls." Hopelessly distracted, I skidded madly on the turf into the goalpost, knocking me unconscious. I dreamt...

...that I was falling - but upwards - to the sky. Not your usual kind of dream about falling - and it wasn't about flying....flying would suggest control...this was falling the wrong way. As I fell upwards, faster and faster, and sometimes slower when certain denser clouds got in the way, I thought to myself "How odd! I am falling towa....." But I failed to finish my thought as my head hit the underside of a wing of jet airliner flying from Flanders to the New World...The bump on the head rendered me unconcious, and put me into a sleep where I dreamt...

... that I was a hamster, which was strange, though quite enjoyable. I ran around in circles for a while, and explored what seemed to be my living environment. It was while doing this I found a gap I could squeeze through into the outside world. However I was promptly found by a large evil looking cat, who chased me around. Running frantically, I paused to look around to see the cat had stopped - it seemed to have been a clockwork cat. At this point the owner showed up - it was Rolf Harris! I fainted with surprise. I dreamt...

...of colourless green ideas dreaming furiously of the day when they might ascend from the abyss of potentiality, and I was the Guardian of the Way, that they might not autoimmanentizate, and they spake unto me, saying, "Art thou not also but an idea, a dream within a dream?" And I scorned them, showing them the sword that I bore, which was called the Sword of Russell that defeated Frege, and that by its virtue they might not pass. But they grinned and were unabashed, and said, "That is a mighty sword, but there is another which is mightier." ...

...pork....hmmmm...I had drifted of into another dream, no longer of swords, but of farmland and countryside. I found myself wandering through ancient hedgerows and treading deep into freshly turned soil. Whils looking up at a kestrel my foot falls into a pot hole and a bang my head. I start to stand myself up and turn to look at the hole that had caused my fall, only to find that I had fallen under a fence rail which now hit me squarely on the head, causing me to fall into an unconcious sleep, where I dreamt...

...that I was in an old gangster-style car with Humphrey Bogart. He was driving around on these endless colorless streets and told me he'd save me the trouble of explaining everything. He told me how I was the one who killed Maxine, but my twin sister had taken the fall for it. He illustrated how I had blackmailed my way out of that trouble with the Carson boys since I was the person who had seen Regan that night in the office with Berniece. He just kept talking. All these intricate plots seemed right on the mark at first, but as he talked he started mentioning names I had never even heard of and all these ludicrously entwined plots, and always driving down these dark grey streets. It wasn't too long before my head was dimly nodding. I realized I had fallen asleep when I began to dream...

...of how I met Augusta one last time amongst the evening trees at Sancéry, and sorrowed with each other over what had been, and as we passed through the formal garden to the sound of unseen harpsichords we turned behind a fomydrangea and there found our graves side by side, open and empty. And so we lay down, united as we had never been in life, and dreamed...

...that I was most honorably and dutifully stumbling along the village boardwalk on a true but unsteady course carrying me to one o me miserably routine early morning tribunals to reassure me goodly woman I have been faithful, and to become sober, following a full evening of whoring and bingeing with Ben Johnson and his band of gay fellows when I espied a shop window wherebehind there cooled assundry panned pastries pulled fresh from the oven, and the sweet aromas of peach, plum, apple,and boysenberry shamelessly abducted me from the street and I found meself dragged, against my will, and forced to position my heavy beast of burden upon a stool before a counter upon which was positioned a succulently plump apple pastry whereby the hot juices were tantalizingly seething beneath its thin sugary crust while a shapely young wench looked on, with batter in bowl in hand while she brushed aside a rogue strand of unrepentent hair from beside her floured nose and smiled sich a come hither smile I was abashed and ... and quite beside myself as to what action to take.

"Milady," I began, "It is true, by night I am an uninhibited bachelor whom the tavern women adore, but by day I remain a devoted husband and father, for even an unremorseful sinner such as myself must do his penance. While you madam, are without shame to have enticed me, as you have, into this your den of iniquity, through the unabashed advertising of your many uncomparable wares, for I am a weak man who cannot resist succumbing to my numerous vices, however, I assure you all that I require from you is a SPOON."

That being my utensil of choice, when consummating pie.  

"Spoon? With you!" she scorned. "I should live to see the day. Why, I am a lady! While you, Sir, are a boor!" and she violently cudgeled me over the cranial dome with a giraffe-handled heavily-wooden spatulate-shaped spoon, rendering me unconscious, whereas my face dropped forward into the apple pie, whereafter, I dreamt...

...I was in a small stone cell with no windows, I flew at the metal door and kicked it with my feet to make as much noise as I could. The door opened banging against the wall in the silence that followed several yellow budgerigars squeezed in through the opening. Backing me up against the wall they began to sing till I slid once more to the floor to sleep and dream...

…that my yacht was running down-wind surfing at top speed over the giant waves just a few miles off the coastline. With both hands steadily on the tiller the vibration from the rudder spread all the way down to my wet toes and made me feel warm all over in spite the cold spray hitting me violently and more or less constantly. The dawn was still an hour away so I could not see much in the poor moonlight shining through to the lee-side of the main-sail. The moon was almost full but temporarily hiding behind my main-sail so the deck and cockpit were just barely reflecting the blue light in a mysterious way and the breaking waves around me were glistering with a cold, bluish sparkle. I checked the compass and the distance to the coastline and noticed we were well on course but not yet able to spot the Lighthouse at Eddystone Rocks. Then all of a sudden I heard a strange noise like ‘TWANG’ and felt a shaking going through the hull and looked up at my bottom-reefed main-sail. The ship started rocking from side to side and was finally leaning over at lee-wards in a spectacular and very inconvenient way and I shouted: ALL HANDS ON DECK at the top of my voice to wake up my crewmates…. And that's when I woke up finding myself lying on the floor beside the bed and the misses looking down at me asking what in the whole world was going on. I mumbled something unheard and went to the bathroom to empty my overfilled bladder and then back to bed where I finally managed to fall asleep again after a while and dreamt that…….

(Not sure if CdM had a dream about me waking up in a small stone cell with no windows or not. I presume he had as he is submitting his lines here though he may just have dreamt that he was awake and then submitted in his sleep??)

... I was in the small stone cell again, accompanied by CdM and Marc, which is odd as I have no idea what either of them looks like. Oddly they were both asleep, and CdM was snoring. I started clapping my hands to try and wake them up, but to no avail. I shouted at the top of my voice - no avail. I prodded the two sleepers, kick them, sang the national anthem right in their ears... but all to a quite singular lack of avail. So I gave up, went over to CdM's side of the cell because he's right, found myself a bit of space to lie down and dozed off. I dreamt...

... I saw a foreign land
And rode a foreign steed
Her lilac mane; my crimson hand
The colors interbleed
A jagged face of endless chalk
To match our hair unkempt
As I in sleepless saddle rock
And by and by I dreamt...

... that I was sitting on a stage ... in a circle with others sat in the gloom, who's shape I can barely make out ... an audience far off is hushed ...it's the World Championship... I lean forward and say hushed tones "Belsize Park and placing a blue token on Golders Green to initiate Parks and Greens cascade as the mmmmmmmm goes up from the audience I rest back on deckchair, close my eyes, smile and dream that...

That I am soaring through the freezing Scottish air on a broomstick. Ron is there flying with me and up ahead of us is Cornelius Fudge, who looks rather like my friend Ken. He is casting spells but we can't hear what they are because of the wind and his broomstick has go faster stripes which mean that we can't catch him up to ask him exactly what he's doing. Suddenly we are flying close to the ground and, striking a rock, I ricochet straight upwards, which causes the broomstick to stall. I'm falling hundreds of feet toward the ground, but I realise that Cornelius Fudge has bewitched it to become soft, so I know that I won't come to any harm. I fall into the pillowy earth, which gives way beneath me, covering up the light as I fall deeper and deeper, suffocating in the soft duvet of grass and soil. Consciousness slips away just as I spy the snitch, which has fallen into a corner of the duvet, and I dream...

...I was a cockfighter! Only I wasn't a regular cockfighter, who battles his animals against those of an opponent. It was with turkeys instead of chickens, and rather than fighting each other, I raced my own turkey around the countryside. Halfway through the race we started fighting - I would punch and the turkey would hop up and peck me. I remember holding back my punches a bit because I didn't want to be known as the kind of dude who would punch out a turkey...
...so the turkey clobbered me with a right hook. As I passed out, I dreamt...

...that I was a rock. I lay on the bottom of the Pacific Ocean being carried inexorably towards the Marianas Trench. Nothing much happened for several million years. Then I found myself being carried deeper and deeper as I reached the Philippine Plate, forcing the edge of the Pacific Plate down towards the fiery heart of the globe. As miles of rock ground above me, the heat remoselessly increased until my consciousness began to flicker and dissolve...

...until suddenly, I was a sausage roll. A very sleepy sausage roll, in fact, and I dreamt...

...that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the colour of their skin but by the content of their character. But then I woke up to find...

...I am once more a very sleepy sausage roll gazing into the twinkling eyes of a foraging bear, who is pilfering through the camps freezer. As I am crammed down the bears gullet, I can only hope the next stage of my journey will be a brief one, and I will quickly metamorph into a lovely multi-colored mushroom what adorns the forest's temporal floor. I dream...

... no more

...will I dream that I am a dream-interpreter understanding all dreams and able to explain to Wymo and Falstaff that their dreaming of food just indicate they are hungry and should get up to get something to chew on or they had too much food the night before and must avoid this if they want to get a good nights sleep dreaming that…..

Marc you are a fraud (not a Freud like me!) and your dream-interpretation stinks! How dare you poke fun at one of the most important sciences we have left in this cruel world? Beside this your infantile interpretation of the remarkable dreams of a few of the most distinguished contributors to this wonderful site is ridiculous and actually not worth commenting. Hopefully your brutal attacks to this site has not scared off the serious contributors or awaken the dreamers so they will not post their next couple of dreams…..