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Dream nostalgia
For the first time in many months, I remember the dream I had last night. This is rather unusual for me.
My subconscious seems to have turned to cheap spy pulp for inspiration: I dreamt that I was at a conference somewhere, and that I bumped into a woman I knew at college back in the late 70s. I have barely thought of her in the intervening quarter century, in that way people just slip out of your consciousness when they are completely absent from your sphere of friends or acquaintances for long enough.
Anyway, in my dream, Inga was suitably aged - the years had served her well, but she was not still the 18 or 22 year-old I knew back then, but still dressed in jeans and tee shirt. Whatever she was up to at the conference in the dream, it was clearly something she was anxious not to be recognised for. My "hello" was met with a moment's recognition followed by feigned incomprehension, and a shadowy other person would then begin running interference whenever I tried to contact her.
Very strange. I wonder what my subconscious is, or has been up to?
I recall my first day at college as a spotty 18 year old, sitting in a lecture theatre as part of the induction process, looking across the sea of faces, and trying to work out who in that crowd was the exotic tall blonde Swede called Inga Rutenberg. I found out some hours later, that she was neither blonde nor Swedish, not particularly tall either. And she was from Coventry.
I last saw her in 1982 with her husband to be, at a mutual friend's wedding. Contact with all long since lost, I find myself wondering what became of the mysterious and exotically named Inga...
My subconscious seems to have turned to cheap spy pulp for inspiration: I dreamt that I was at a conference somewhere, and that I bumped into a woman I knew at college back in the late 70s. I have barely thought of her in the intervening quarter century, in that way people just slip out of your consciousness when they are completely absent from your sphere of friends or acquaintances for long enough.
Anyway, in my dream, Inga was suitably aged - the years had served her well, but she was not still the 18 or 22 year-old I knew back then, but still dressed in jeans and tee shirt. Whatever she was up to at the conference in the dream, it was clearly something she was anxious not to be recognised for. My "hello" was met with a moment's recognition followed by feigned incomprehension, and a shadowy other person would then begin running interference whenever I tried to contact her.
Very strange. I wonder what my subconscious is, or has been up to?
I recall my first day at college as a spotty 18 year old, sitting in a lecture theatre as part of the induction process, looking across the sea of faces, and trying to work out who in that crowd was the exotic tall blonde Swede called Inga Rutenberg. I found out some hours later, that she was neither blonde nor Swedish, not particularly tall either. And she was from Coventry.
I last saw her in 1982 with her husband to be, at a mutual friend's wedding. Contact with all long since lost, I find myself wondering what became of the mysterious and exotically named Inga...
no subject
Let's see, what would some of them be doing now?:
Simon Farrant - mafia don
Richard Seymour-Whiteley - pope
Paul Osborne - professional maniac (i/c of nuclear missile silo)
Simon Keast - still a cockroach, doing human impersonations in Las Vegas
no subject
Milburn - Porn entrepreneur and junkie.
Dave Wassell - Town Crier (actually he's a lawyer).
Nick Guymer - Insectologist.
Nigel Burton - Hairdresser ;-p.
Roger Holmes - failed Marks and Spencer Chief Executive (true)
Johnny Cotterill - God-Emperor of Mongo; Field Marshal, VC and Bar.
no subject
R Holmes failed at that? What happened? Serves the snooty fellow right!
J Cotterill is indeed an army officer. A guy I was at junior school with knows him. The fascist git once tried to strangle me so I hope his regiment (the 3rd Footpads) is posted to Ulster and he gets his willy shot off.
M Milburn had his rare moments of decency, but I do remember the school-wide sensation when he was sacked for picking a purse in a shop in town(though it was a clear case of entrapment). I can picture him now, walking past the gym, behind Bostock the woodwork teacher, a day or two before he was shipped off in disgrace to his folks in Germany. Bostock looked suitably dark and disgusted, and MM was putting a brave face on the whole thing by grinning sheepishly. He probably is indeed a porn entrepreneur now, and making more $$$ than both you and me combined.
N Broad travelled the world a few times, I hear. I bumped into him in Covent Garden once, doing some Christmas shopping, and he said he was working on an oil rig, and had been stranded for a while in Jamaica. Always had the gift of the gab, so he probably worked his way out of there on a ship.
I think Percy Bradley became a dentist. Rather him than me. Nice fellow and one heck of a bassplayer.
Yes, Keast was 100% evil, and is probably on Death Row somewhere in Texas for being a serial poisoner. I'd rather be the loser I am than a completely despicable dirtbag like he was.