dreams, doctor?

I walk to the driver’s seat of my Tranist van, pulling the seat belt from the rear seat across the floor then around my shoulders and tie it to the door. I’m parked in a field that might be in The Trossachs in Scotland. There’s a light wood, bracken, wet grass. Dusk is beginning to fall. As someone had warned me I reverse carefully but the van hits a low deer fence (a goat could have leapt over it never mind a deer). I hit the foot brake but the van keeps sliding backwards of the edge of a ravine … yes, yes, Dougie, no one said it would be original … I sail backwards through the air, descending in rather clichéd slow motion. Me and the van move backwards through tree tops then into empty space and I see that it’s not an inland ravine but a sea cliff. I continue downwards.

We hit the sea bed with a bump. The van is sitting on its rear end in about a foot or so of water. Gentle waves roll in to the beach and I take in my surroundings. In front of me is the cliff I’ve just come off. It's covered in Caledonian forest trees. There is a massive structure attached to the cliff face, reaching almost to the top. It might be a giant Ferris wheel, it has that appearance and those dimensions, but it’s not for amusement. It could perhaps be a working wheel, except its not connected to any mill or water way. And its organic, made of wood and growing material, almost as if it’s part of the forest … watching too much Lord Of The Rings Dougie!

Over to the left there is a beach. Behind there are two blocks of 1960 apartment buildings like those my aunts, uncles and grandmother occupied in Castlemilk, Glasgow; except these are not modern day slums. They’re pleasant. It could even be a French sea side resort. There is a road separating the two blocks of apartments. It disappears towards the horizon.

There are quite a few people around. An old couple; children playing. Some folk out for a walk, some of them with dogs. I call frantically for assistance but no one seems too bothered. They look up and across at me. No one says anything but one or two smile, as if to suggest, ach it’s only Dougie horsing around as usual.

I rock backwards and forwards in my driver’s seat until the van rights itself. There’s some hissing and steam as the engine hits the water. I get out the van by the side door from which the hoist is usually deployed. I walk around the back of the van to inspect for damage. There doesn’t seem to be any. I return to the driver’s window, reach in through it to turn the ignition key and the van starts first time. I drive towards the beach but park just before it. Now I deploy the hoist. I’m standing on it, maybe sitting, when two police officers walk through the shallow water towards me. One says, good evening Dougie then they pass on out to sea. The other one simply smiles on seeing me, as if they’ve just been sharing a joke about me.

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Fuck knows what that’s all about