You’re fucked bud…
If I may…
The speedboat is your marriage ------ you want to back out of it.
The burning bodies — that is just the camp fire you were sleeping by.
I had a dream on Saturday a.m. that I was a selector on the Limerick under-21 hurling team.
We are playing in the Munster under-21 championship, which consists of three counties - Cork, Limerick and Waterford. This is played off in a “blitz” over a single sunny Saturday afternoon on a park pitch in Limerick city in late August 2014, specifically August 30th, with each county playing each other and the top two teams then progressing to a final.
Limerick beat Waterford, but after the match, Waterford raise an objection, saying that Limerick’s best player should have been playing for Waterford, as his house is a few yards or so over the border between Waterford City and Limerick City, on the Waterford side. In the dream, Waterford city and Limerick city are one agglomeration of a city with a border down the middle.
On the TV coverage, Michael Lyster brings up a satellite map image of the area where the player’s house is, with the Waterford/Limerick border superimposed onto the image. It is found that the player is actually from Waterford.
I am involved in a quickly-arranged hearing of a GAA disciplinary committee to argue the case that the player should remain on the Limerick team without sanction. This hearing takes place at a suburban Limerick shopping centre which looks exactly like Cornelscourt shopping centre. My argument fails and it is decided that the match will be replayed with the star player now playing for Waterford instead.
Waterford win the rematch and go on to play Cork in the final, which Cork win.
Both Limerick and Waterford are losers.
The Locky Byrne saga.
I have a dental appointment. I drive to the building which formerly housed the Vincent L. Byrne hardware store at the N4 crossroads at Palmerstown and is now a furniture showroom.
In the dream, this building now houses a dental practice, but also contains an off-licence. I go to the dentist’s for my appointment. I don’t remember very much of that.
When I leave the appointment I go to the off-licence part of the building and buy one can of beer. The attendant tells me “that’s a very good beer - it’s brewed in East Germany”. In the dream, East Germany still exists.
I place the can of beer in the centre of the back passenger’s seat. I then drive away, but not before going through a McDonalds-style drive through section at the side of the building, which I have been instructed to do by my dentist in order to find out the results of my dental appointment.
I drive up to the window. The car is a left-hand drive and the drive through is designed for left-hand drive cars. I reach the window where the attendant is, roll down the window and look to my left, and it turns out that the recently deceased William G. Stewart, late of Fifteen To One, is the attendant. He tells me cheerfully to hang on a moment while he prints out my dental results. When he has done this he turns around, makes a sinister laugh at me, and hands me an A4 sheet of paper.
The sheet says, in capital letters, “YOU NEED A ROOT CANAL!” I drive away as Stewart continues to laugh in a sinister manner.
Shade of North and South Korea here.
I believe the root cause of that dream is a comment I overheard leaving the Limerick Gaelic Grounds on the evening of August 30th, 2014.
Behind me, a Limerick man was talking to a Mayo man and told the Mayo man that he had been supporting Mayo in the All-Ireland football semi-final replay that had just taken place. He told the Mayo man that there were many uncanny similarities between Limerick hurling and Mayo football and that as a result he felt a kinship with Mayo.
My feeling is that the dream was a metaphor for what would turn out to be yet another doomed Mayo attempt to win the All-Ireland the following day.
I had a bit of WhatsApp to and fro last night about whether it was worth buying an intercounty GAA season ticket for 2018. I went to bed soon after and dreamt that Davy Fitzgerald abandoned his Wexford managerial role following the end of the league and before the start of the championship. He was approached by his native Clare to return in a playing capacity after they had goalkeeper travails during the league. Wexford were left rudderless and bereft (cc @Breaking_my_balls) but I woke up before the championship started. Your thoughts please, @ChocolateMice.
I love the way you used the words rudderless and bereft there. Fabulous. You’ve got a lovely way with words
You are afraid your missus will leave you if you don’t propose this Christmas
I believe you are Davy Fitzgerald in this dream. Wexford represent the rut you have allowed yourself to fall into. Clare represent Faythe Harriers. They are calling their son home.
I believe you hold subconscious aspirations to return to the club fold with the Harriers to finally silence the doubters of your underage pedigree.
That’s a lot of silencing to be at.
The scenario you describe (upheaval, uncertainty, under-preparedness) would be the ideal lead-in to the championship for the Limerick hurlers, but I can’t speak for Wexford.
What way did you decide on the ticket?
I dreamt last night that I bought a Ferrari. A red Ferrari. It was in the style of a racing car/go kart and wasn’t terribly comfortable. I was driving it up the North Circular Road through Phibsboro and was terrified by the buses which loomed over me.
I’ll field this one.
You are the ferrari. The buses are death. You feel the slow grip of the reaper closing in.
Happy New Year mate.
I’ll be up that way on the way to croker the next few years alright
FAO of @ChocolateMice:
I dreamt the other night that there was a general election campaign and Leo Varadkar and his entourage rocked up at my parents’ house in Wexford. I wasn’t physically there and nobody could see me but it was like I was present in some kind of weird God like overseeing / narrator role.
Varadkar was sitting at the table in the dining room flanked by his handlers and members of that fucking Strategic Communications Unit (“SCU”). My Mam was there minding my niece and Leo’s people handed the child a special Leo Varadkar coloring book and pencils. I was looking on saying “Varadkar, you’re a despicable cunt.” My niece started colouring in a picture of Varadkar and gave him green hair.
One of these SCU flunkies glanced at it and exclaimed that there was the makings of a brilliant tweet in this. They were then trying to get my niece to walk over to Varadkar and hand him the picture. He’d then hold it up to camera and say something like “As much as I love leading this great country I’ve no plans to get green hair!”
They were at this for a few takes when my Dad arrived in. He’s a quietly spoken gentleman and never uses foul and/or abusive language but he erupted and started shouting at Varadkar to get out of the house. “I don’t give a fuck what kind of PR stunt you want to pull, Varadkar, but you’re not involving my granddaughter in it. Get out of this house, you insincere fucking cunt.”
I was cheering and fist pumping and encouraging him, but then I woke up.
I dreamt the other night that me and another lad from work (not clear who that was) banged one of the women at work on a work night out. The dream didn’t feature the sexual encounter only the subsequent HR investigation. The sex was consensual and the lady (married) in question was adamant that she regretted nothing. I’m not really attracted to the lady in question and would have no interest in a threesome with another man.