Back to the village
Last night’s main dream was in a familiar setting. I have these dreams every so often. They are set in the village I grew up in, Southwick, in the south-west of England. In this village there were all these quiet roads and cul-de-sacs where we used to play football, tennis, manhunt, and so on.
In my dream, I was with two friends – I think it was Katie and James – and we were all grown up, just walking around the village. My memories of that village and the houses are very vivid, so everything was there in great detail. It felt good to be back there, and though I don’t think any of us were speaking, each of us was reminiscing about our childhoods.
We got to one house and there was a tall figure, all grown up: It was John Ballantine, but some reason I thought his name was Burbage. I used to know another kid called John Burbage, but he was a lot younger than John Ballantine and I wasn’t really friends with him. I called his (incorrect) name: “Burbage! Burbage!” He was standing at the foot of his drive smiling. I haven’t seen him for more than ten years, so I really don’t know what he’d look like, but in my dream his hair was a lot calmer than it used to be. When I knew him, he had this kind of manic, afro-like hair; in my dream he had it cut short and looked quite respectable.
That was all I can remember about this dream. It was a happy dream, as dreams of my childhood always are, although they are always mixed with melancholy because they are of people I will likely never see again.
comments
Leave a Reply