I had the most peculiar dream last night. Firstly, it had famous people in it, which rarely happens to me. Lord Malarkey encounters famous people in his dreams all the time, which suggests to me a suppressed wish for celebrity. But my dreams are usually of the mundane type, of sorting out problems or enacting wish fulfilments. Last night, though, was something else.
It started off with me and the British National Treasure, Dame Maggie Smith, dressed as nuns. This is her, in role as the Dowager Countess of Grantham from ‘Downton Abbey.’ She also played the Mother Superior in the Sister Act films and a witch in the Harry Potter series. And the Lady in the Van. And Miss Jean Brodie. Amongst many other roles.
Dame Maggie kept referring to herself as the Chief Queen Nun and she was training me to be her successor, as sort of Chief Queen Nun in Waiting, as it were. I remember thinking, ‘This nun outfit is very oppressive, and that hairy archbishop is standing waaaaay too close,’ and therefore wondering if a future career as a Chief Queen Nun would suit me.
Anyway, we were in a theatre, Dame Maggie and I, waiting for the arrival of the Pope. He was going to be guest of honour at a show. What type of show wasn’t made clear in the dream. Dame Maggie and I made our way up to the balcony and took up seats on the end of a row. Some officious bod with a clipboard appeared and said, ‘You can’t sit there. Those seats are taken and you aren’t on the seating plan.’
Well, Dame Maggie was having none of that. The balcony section of the theatre was almost empty. I was willing to move on but Dame Maggie was very forthright. ‘Do NOT move!’ she commanded. ‘We shall stay put. We have as much right to be here as everyone else.’ The officious clipboard bod vanished, clearly not willing to stay and argue his point.
So there we were, sitting and waiting for the Pope to arrive. A few more people arrived including a man dressed in very brightly coloured clothes - a sort of abstract red, yellow and blue splodgy design on his baggy shirt, and a pair of red trousers. And some sort of floppy felt hat. He put what looked like a rocket-shaped missile on the floor of the balcony. ‘Is that what I think it is?’ I said, pointing at the rocket-shaped missile.
‘That?’ said the man with no dress sense. ‘It’s a bomb. I thought it might liven up proceedings.’
I felt very casual about this declaration. He was right - it would. But then he decided to move off the balcony and took his bomb with him.
There was a bit of noise behind us and when I turned round, the balcony seats had filled up and the little separate box of seats in the middle of the balcony had been occupied by the Papal entourage. Everyone in the theatre was standing to applaud the arrival of the Pope. The Pope stood up and stepped forward - and began to deliver a stand-up comedy routine!
I started laughing, but no one else did. It was the kind of laughing where I end up crying because something is so funny! Dame Maggie was now nowhere to be seen and other people were telling me to be quiet. But I couldn’t stop laughing.
‘Be quiet!’ people kept saying. ‘You can’t laugh like that at the Pope - it’s disrespectful.’
But I couldn’t stop laughing. ‘That’s not the Pope!’ I managed to say, eventually, between my tears of laughter. ‘That’s Al Murray!’
And then I woke up.
For those who don’t know, this is Al Murray. He is a British comedian, actor and a very clever chap. He is probably best known for his comedy character ‘The Pub Landlord.’
Now, I’ve been giving this dream some thought today, as it was so vivid and contained, unusually for me, two famous people. And I am none the wiser as to what it means other than don’t allow myself to be pushed around. I’m not sure being Chief Queen Nun is a wise career move on account of the whole religious twaddle thing. The outfit isn’t a good look, either, not when one prefers wearing knee length skirts with woolly tights and boots, and one’s natural choice of headwear is a bobble hat. I’d be happy to be a Chief Queen Witch, or just a Queen Witch, to be honest. Perhaps the dream was telling me to laugh and be honest about things instead of keeping quiet so as not to rock the proverbial boat? Perhaps my casual attitude towards the bomb was telling me not to worry about what might happen because it probably won’t. And that just because something looks dangerous doesn’t mean that it is. And vice versa, come to that.
Perhaps it was all down to the Full Moon and eating semi-cooked chickpeas?
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KJ