Category Archives: Dream

St Michael de Rupe…

*

“It is something of a ‘dream come true’ to be here, looking at this.”

“In all its technicolour glory.”

“Traditionally, Michael is depicted either ‘slaying’, or ‘fixing’, or as we might say, ‘drawing’,¬† or even ‘tickling’, the dragon, or, he is depicted with scales and sword in, or on, or above clouds.”

“So at a stretch this could even be described as traditional.”

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“But look at his apparel.”

“This is St Michael, the Celt,

or St Michael, the Hermit,

or St Michael, the Druid…”

“Of all, of which, we whole heartedly approve.”

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“And look at the colours.”

“The golds, and greens, and reds…”

“Earth colours!”

“Or dragon colours.”

“And look at the way in which he is holding his sword.”

“He could be ‘sighting-a-line’ or ‘plumbing-a-depth’.

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“But I thought we were calling this traditional?”

“We are!”

“So where are the clouds?”

“Ah, where indeed…”

*

 

Royalty eh?…

*

The king finished scrutinising his appearance in the full length mirror with a satisfying ‘gurgle’.

His royal tailor had done an altogether splendid job of ‘ironing out’ the few minor discrepancies of attire which had been picked up at the first fitting…

It was, decided the king, now perfect!

All that remained to be done… was to wait.

The crowds were already pouring into the capital from all four corners of the realm.

The minstrels and street entertainers had been plying their trade since before the early hours.

The advance guard of flag wavers would soon be pressing their features to the railings which surrounded the royal palace.

‘They enjoy waiting’, thought the king, ‘it adds to the suspense. Even in the rain, and one ought really to be fully rested before such an event. One should take a little nap. It would hardly matter if one overslept. One would not want to be early after all.’

So, as the subjects of his realm were readied for his illustrious arrival, the king slept.

And slept on…

The king was awoken from his slumber by a frenzied knocking on the heavy oak door of his dressing room.

A hideous dream he had experienced, about wily weavers, and a hard to fool child.

He caught a glimpse of his own form in the mirror as he rushed to the door to open it, and that glimpse confirmed his nightmare.

As the door was flung open the palace butler looked at the royal features aghast.

“Call the guards,” said the king, “someone has stolen my dress suit!”

The Ticket Inspector…

*

I am late.

I am expected in Leicester and now my only option is to catch the last train.

The last train to Leicester is a slow train and also appears to be experiencing difficulties.

Stopping where there are no stations.

That sort of thing.

It becomes clear that many of my fellow passengers are not going to get to their destinations and as the ticket inspector makes his round they discuss alternatives together.

As this is an unfamiliar route I assume that Leicester too is now out of the question.

A strange thing about the ticket inspector, although this is a new route and I have never met him before, he knows my name…

“Yes, Stu…”

…and uses its familiar form.

“You’ll be in Leicester in twenty minutes time.”

Not only does the ticket inspector know my name and use its familiar form, he is also incredibly accurate.

My alarm clock is due to go off in precisely twenty minutes time.

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