Sorry Scott, didn't mean to scare you

Tommo

God only knows what this one means, if anything, beyond 'Pubs, eh? Not what they used to be'.

I'm strolling up the road for a quiet pint in my local but suddenly find myself a few blocks away in a road I haven't been down in some time, but which happens to have another nice pub, as I remember it. I get there and see right away that it's been trendified. Sleek tables, couches with throw cushions, mellow soundz, lots of youngsters. And, as I scan the taps I notice not one familiar beer on tap. I ask for whatever's good, and am invited to take a seat. Nice touch!

I wait for what, in my dream, seems an eternity for it to arrive. When it does, I see that the pint glass is empty, but encased in what looks like a very bulky filter machine with lots of little compartments, and that the beer is slowly being 'filtered' into the glass from the top of the machine. What the...?

I get a bit impatient and take hold of the glass before it's completely full, attempting to de-couple it from the machine.. Because I can't quite figure out how it's held in position, I end up spilling some beer and the dripping continues. A bit of a mess. Then I open one of the little compartments. There are some hand-wipes. I open another. A fresh pack of Wrigley's doublemint chewing gum AND a tiny pot of sweet chilli dipping sauce. I open a third door. A needle and some black and white thread.

Then (I know, but it's nearly finished), I realise that customers have been going in and out of what looks like a portaloo in the middle of the pub. A middle-aged man comes out of it, and says he's ready when I am. I say I'd like to finish my beer first. He says fine, no rush, and disappears back into the portaloo. I have no idea what it is he's ready for, and I'm not, and decide to leave before finding out.

UH???

Oh, so that's where my memory bank got to.

Can I have it back now, martle?

Thanks, Tommo. I'm sure you're right in most respects. But what I instinctively feel about that dream having thought about it is that it's a representation of my pub alienation since no longer being legally able to sit in one and smoke. I feel this loss more keenly than I can possibly describe. 

Mine are JADE, Ros. Jade, you hear?

Last night the end part of the dream I had (the only bit i can remember) was I had a bright red car and I lent it to someone and it came back scratched.  I'd had, in turn, borrowed it from someone else so was panicing about it being scratched and the person I borrowed it from thinking it was my fault.
Weird.  My car isn't even red and I wouldn't lend it to anyone (except Lynn) anyway!

Quite  right too, Mort. When a friend of mine borrowed Mr.Lenderby's car he got in an awful rumpus just for leaving some toffee wrappers, an expired lottery ticket and a tennis ball under the driver's seat.
Things at the bank got enormously better when he was promoted to District Manager for Foreign Loans, and of course everybody knew there was no way his son-in-law could have secured that home-improvement loan with just his job at the pickle factory and Eglantine expecting again.