Inchcock Today: Friday 5th December 2014


I awoke with a deep sense of apprehension at 0445hrs.


This is me scrawled scribble wot I found this morning

I’d had a long sleep for me, but apparently dream filled again.

Noticed a scribbled note from myself about dreams, that I could not remember writing?


Stated laptop and went down put kettle on and went out and moved the bins ready for collection. Returned made a cuppa and back in the bathroom took me medications then consulted the mysterious notes.

GC blipvin

Tried to make sense of them, some I could remember bits of and why I’d scrawled the word/s, others left me bamboozled as to why.

Written: Metal boat alone lost sinking?

Memory of: I seem to have been in a massive ship on a big river – think it was trying to dock somewhere but kept sinking? Searching for someone? Fear?

Written: Fencing,  Ice cream?

Memory of: Nothing at all.

Written: Underground bunker, soldiers, girl, bombs, hula- hoop?

Memory of: Very little… Many families huddled together, death, hidden, being chased? Children?

Written: Mazes, metal runways, no escape?

Memory of: Seem to remember running along pathways being chased and trying to protect someone?

Written: Shame, disgrace, frustration, tomato soup, writing, being laughed at, prodded by walking stick?

Memory of: This one I could relate too and remember bits of fairly well. I was at a desk in a submarine trying to write (with a quill I think) but I could not for some reason.

Then I was in a bath of tomato soup on the deck of an oil tanker that had thousands of illegal immigrants swimming in the oil in the holds, and none of the crew would listen to my pleas to get them out? I decided I’d write a letter to Lynton Cox (Cyber-friend) about it? By now I was using an old typewriter and the ink ran out, so I stood on top of the mast and did some semaphore signing with flags to tell the world of the problem… as I fell off the mast I found myself in a class-room sat alone with dozens of tutors/teachers coming in and prodding me with walking sticks and telling me I was… wait for it… ‘An obnoxious old coffin ready pillock’!

Later, I think it was part of the same dream, I was having an autopsy done on me and couldn’t speak to the tell the butcher in his blue and white apron that I was still alive… then a few people came in and started clapping?

Make some sense of that someone please diagnose this for me.

Written: Driving a bus, running over people, no ticket, shooting, loud kids?

Memory of: No memory of this at all.

Written: Fire, flames, smoke, Parliament?

Memory of: All I can remember is I had a gas mask on and was trying to eat a Cornish pasty inside it, and a feeling of jubilation when I fired my water pistol?

I worked on this Diary post before I forgot the things  could remember.

Even now, minutes after typing this in and reading it back the memory is fading fast.

Although I feel in good spirits emotionally today, I’m coughing and the angina is bad again. I am feeling the cold so bad too today.

Managed to sit on my headphones – another thing to get tomorrow, providing I’m up to going out physically.

Spent hours doing graphics, blogging and Facebooking today, but didn’t go out anywhere.

Took me medications at 1655hrs.

So tired and cold.


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