I awoke at 4am from a nightmare. I was under attack by buzzing wasps or flies. I swatted one yellow thing from the air using one of my Slazenger pumps and it fell to the floor, it's wings fallen off, but still twitching, like a broken robot. Someone picked up its body between thumb and fore-finger and I recoiled in horror at this, telling them to put the thing down.
I can see now that the colours are the same as those I'm using for the Sisyphus artwork, orange yellow. The body had no stripes.
I lay awake for hours thinking about the future and my precarious situation of dependency. If something happened to my parents, would I become homeless? Would my paintings be destroyed? Would my music be deleted and lost? How could I preserve things?
I slept again and dreamt of being in London with Deb. We were in a train station and trying to find a train home but were thwarted, and couldn't. It seemed to be near closing time. We wandered around the maze-like building, at one point entering a ticket-office from the top, walking along a strange ledge, like a picture rail, that ran around the room. A section of it operated like a lift and we descended to the ground that way. A man in a dark suit behind the desk, an employee, told us that the place was just closing and that we should leave the way we came in. I explained that we couldn't so he let us leave by the main door, which he unlocked, showing us out just as he too left. He gave me his blue-silver mobile phone, and, in a bag, a tee-shirt of his which was long sleeved.
Deb and I sat in a row of seats, something like a railway station waiting area, but the large screen that shows train arrivals and departures was cleared for some sort of theatre show. The white screen showed the suited man and his girlfriend as shadows. They were now dressed as clowns or entertainers and putting on some sort of avant-garde performance. Deb criticised this after the show, I think the man was slightly hurt. I was more sympathetic. I felt cold and put on the man's tee-shirt but it had lots of holes and was worn out. His phone then rang. It was a female friend of his. I tried to explain that he gave me his phone.
The dream was at least partly influenced by rekindled memories of our trip to Euston Passenger Lounge in November 2019 where we saw David Mellor; his name was in the quiz show Pointless a day or two ago.
