Aren’t dreams interesting?
At 4.15 a.m. I was wakened by a
dream (Ginger Baker, who has had his head shaved and entrusted me with the
tresses, is escorting me to a nightclub, which turns out to be a muddy pig farm
with a hummock in the middle, where I lose my shoes, but then this Korean girl
comes along and starts to – ) which I’ll tell you all about some other time.
So
it’s 4.15 in the morning, and Frank Sinatra’s ‘I Thought About You’ from ‘Songs
for Swingin’ Lovers!’ is playing in my head, complete with Nelson Riddle’s
arrangement and Harry ‘Sweets’ Edison’s muted trumpet obligatos, and much as I love
this record, at this point in time I need to delete it. So I try all my usual
insomnia tricks – the yogic toe-to-scalp muscle-by muscle relaxation, the
step-by-step walk to my primary school, the attempt to list alphabetically all
the girls I’ve known in my life, from A to Z (I usually skip over Q and X, and
I and U) – but what happens is that the music in my inner ears segues into
entirely invented orchestral clichés, which swerve between Basie and Victor
Sylvester, through chord changes I can almost hear but never pursue and I decide
to just let it play itself out…
Whereupon, of course, I shut down into a dreamless sleep, until the
six-fifteen goods train rumbles past and rattles the windows.
Having read ‘The
Child’s Garden of Psychoanalysis’, I can interpret most of the above, except: why
was she Korean?
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