Somewhat odd dream last night.
In it I have been engaged to a man (recurring dream guy) by my father. I don’t remember much about the engagement or the man – details about him can sometimes be /really/ fuzzy round the edges, but he was dark haired so it’s a good bet it was him. We go to Keele University which has suddenly become some museum like place where we can see the architecture of ‘Van Dyke’ which is apparently all famous and everything. We are taken on a tour of the place and questions are asked of us. I distinctly remember saying that one of van Dyke’s talents was also painting, and there is definitely an artist of that name. We seem to be in an area of white marble and columns and giant steps – it is a bit amphitheatre like where there are shallower steps – but they look a lot like the steps down to Sainsbury’s near the orchard Centre in Didcot – only in shiny white marble. I jump down to the level the rest of the group are at. They are in an area just outside a big building. Then the teacher and I lead off from the group. He and I are discussing art, this van Dyke guys in particular and other stuff in general. I am telling him about my forays into the world of art it. Then we stop and look at something through a window – possibly a poster for something – it looks very Pablo Picasso-esque in red and blue and there is I think a wobbly lined woman doing some kind of dance. Then we all drive off, not sire if it was in a minibus or a coach, whichever it was, we get where we are going almost instantly. The dream shifted most likely.
I am now with a friend and we all enter a theatre hall, sadly I can’t remember what it looked like, but I think it was red brick fronted when I was going in. Coming out was another matter, but I will get to that. There is a show on, but there is also someone after one of us. An assassin I think. I sing a song to throw the guy off (surprisingly effective in the dream world). He applauds me (even though my singing is atrocious) and the prima-donna (from Phantom of the Opera) is in pain from it (as if it was the most beautiful thing she has ever heard and it hurts her to hear something so pure). In the time I have everyone captivated with my voice, my friend successfully manages to hide herself. Then I go follow her into the theatre, find her easily in the seats and plunk down next to her.
We then discuss means of escape. She’s been in the hall before and there are side grills which she manages to unfasten (under the eyes but oddly unnoticed by the compere who is running the show as everyone is watching the performance of kids doing ballet. The holes are large enough for her to slip down, but I cannot – I am too big. She won’t escape outside, leaving me to find my own way so sits back down. I ask the man who is keeping us captive (the compere/assasin) to let me sing again. He says yes I can, and then I go back to my seat and tell my friend of the plan. I have noticed steps at the back of the stage on the left that I can go down – the women who are taking part in the show change there – to the right of the stage is a small curtained cubicle to change that the compere/assasin is standing in. We watch the ballet; I look on my iPod at music and flick through a few selections. The theatre has gone from grand on entering to a sort of community theatre stage with rickety chairs set in rows. Then suddenly the ballet is over and the winning little girls are being given a single ballet shoe as a prize. One little girl is in tears of joy at getting the prize.
Then we watch some more show. And I am not paying attention. Suddenly it’s my turn. I look up and the guy who is supposed to be evil is wearing a purple dress (the sparkly tight fitting stretchy type that transvestites/university footballers wear on a night out to union) and he is holding up one for me to change into. Of course wearing something that tacky is the last thing I want, and I need to avoid changing in the little cubicle to the right of the stage. I look significantly at my friend, and walk up to him. I take the dress and walk to the stairs. He looks after me but doesn’t twig to my plan. Then looks at the other changing room next to him and shrugs. Down the stairs I go, and turn left. There’s a door and also a room where girls are changing. I go out the door and drop the dress.
The building is now looking decidedly shabby and there is a tiny little kitchenette next to the room the girls are changing in. I go round the building which isn’t all regal and ‘Van Dyke-ist’ any more and meet a colleague from work with a white car. The doors are weird. There are ones at the side and also the front. I get in, she says that the friend who is really in danger got held up and will be with us in a minute. She comes out looking dishevelled, dives in the car and we set off at a fair clip. The front of the theatre now looks very much like a grotty port-a-cabin. We are followed by two thugs in another car. We drive around discussing what to do. My American colleague says they are herding us. Her talk is all very cowboy oriented and her driving is crazy and would have scared the hell out of me if it had been real life. The landscape is vaguely familiar – whitewashed crash barriers and palm plants on the roundabout we scream around. Then we hit a one way system (which leads to some interesting cat and mouse with the thugs as we pass each other in opposite directions. We desperately turn into a building site and see ambulance men there (why they were there I have no idea. They must have been integral to the dream plot). We draw up. The thugs get out, but so do the ambulance men. I tell the girls to pretend I have a sprained ankle to get their help. They drive their van past the menacing men. The thugs salute the ambulance. The paramedics protect us and then the dream faded.
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