Speaking of girls…how did you get on proving these scurrilous copy and paste accusations of yours? You went very silent
I don’t dream much, if at all. So I said I better log this one I had last week before I forget it. I’d say it was one of those REM type dreams after you doze back asleep in the morning.
We (can’t remember who I was with) were in a canteen. It was like one of those big work canteens except there was a couple of barista machines outside the counter. We took our seats and were quickly approached by a heavy set middle-aged man. He said, “Hi I’m @Bandage, can I get ye a couple of cappuccinos?” We quickly accepted and off he went to the barrister machine and produced two cappuccinos back to us in gig time.
@Bandage was a good 22 stone with his jet black hair slicked back wearing a black and white open chest shirt exposing his medallion and hairy chest. He was a younger version of Ted Hanky (see below). But this is where the comparison ended. @Bandage was a happy go lucky type of character.
I asked @bandage if he worked there (implying the factory, not the canteen). To which he quickly replied, “No, I’ve never worked a day in my life”.
And off he went about his business serving out cappuccinos.
FIN.
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Is there an ironic take here on the “My mother still thinks I’m a barrister” joke?
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I don’t know that one so, No…
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I’ll work harder on my spelling in future.
In my defence I’m down with a bad flu. Not Covid. I’d say Covid wouldn’t be half as bad. So my spell checker was a bit blurry. I’ll sort that out now.
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Basically you resent @Bandage for getting handy likes for mundane posts (symbolised by synthetic industrial cappuccinos)
My automatic spell checker doesn’t recognise barista either. So there the problem lies.
Did I forget to add that the cappuccinos were top notch.
Are you sure it wasn’t soup?
He had his back turned and made them very fast alright.
But they tasted alright
@fenwaypark apologies but I had a dream last night where you died after getting a punch in my local pub.
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Stranger things have happened 
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In your dream, @fenwaypark represents the local Traveller Community hoodlums we’ve seen on the local news recently ie. you know him but don’t know him. Same as you know the offending youths in your locality but don’t know them.
Your local pub represents your community and the punch represents the justice you would like served on these hoodlums.
The fact you would want them to die for a bit of Halloween night hi-jinks is a bit OTT however, a little concerning.
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Two nights ago: I am returning on a plane from France after a cycling holiday. The bicycle never arrives back with me. I am furious.
Last night: I am being chased by an unidentified person/people, who I think are Saudis, from Qatar into Saudi Arabia. I am hiding in the back passenger seat of a car, lying down flat in the leg spaces. The roads look like a country lane in Ireland but there is sand beyond this. I arrive at a building which looks like the inside of the Georges Pompidou Centre in Paris, but is actually a clone of the library in Trinity College. I see Irish people but they are actually Saudis. I then try to flee back into Qatar to try and get a flight to some European country. I do not know if I made it.
Is it about a bicycle?
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Look. It’s pretty simple. The bicycle represents your extreme left-wing ideology. Qatar represents an extreme right-wing ideology. You feel conflicted due to your interest in the world cup- hence the missing bike- you’re annoyed with yourself and all intellectual attempts to justify your position fail- symbolised both by the ‘infiltration’ of trinity library by saudis and your return to Qatar.
Liverpool falling way behind Manchester City probably hasn’t helped.
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But I was trying to get out of Qatar?
…and you failed
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I am talking to a chap in his 20s who is unknown to me, whose brother has taken their own life the previous day. He is devastated and sitting slumped on the ground in the doorway of PJ’s pub in Salthill. I then go back in time by two days Quantum Leap style to observe and study the brother’s last movements. I am allowed talk to the brother. In this dream I am in my 20s too. The brother shows no sign that he is about to take his own life but I know he is shortly to do so. In the dream I find out that the chap and his brother are Church of Ireland. In the end I find out that the brother does not take his own life and the whole thing has been a prank on me. I throw my arms around the brother and we embrace, crying tears of joy. Then the three of us go clubbing at a fictional nightclub at the crossroads at the bottom of Taylor’s Hill in Galway, where there used to be a shop called Murray’s and which is now a solicitor’s office, I think. W ego inside the entrance above which is a stained glass window with M written on it, which is a real window where the former Murray’s shop is. Inside, the nightclub is a large, packed, dark pub in Thurles after the Cork v Limerick Munster hurling semi-final in 2000 and there is a big screen showing live coverage of Meath playing Offaly in the 2000 Leinster football championship. There are lots of lovely Cork girls around wo are both gorgeous in a low maintenance sort of way and dead sound and each of the three of us brings one home.
2
I am involved in the World Cup of war, as is everybody. 32 teams compete in war to win the World Cup. Each day there are four games. Countries which feature prominently are Poland, Germany, Russia the USA, Serbia, Bosnia, Afghanistan, England and Ireland. The World Cup of War is mainly held in Germany. RTE show every game. During each game, bombs rain down on the real houses of television viewers. It is terrifying. The press preview each game with relish. Tonight’s game is USA v Poland. This is a terrifying experience at the end of it I need to go outside for cigarette. “What a game”, say the television pundits. I then find myself playing for Ireland in the final round of group games away to Serbia, on a battlefield which is a long field surrounded by woods. Elsewhere there is a game taking place in a different location simultaneously. I am taking to a sales representative of an Irish firm of luxury chocolates who is in the woods fighting alongside me for the Ireland team. We are getting updates from the other game as we attempt to cheat death. Our team scrapes a draw and qualifies and are airlifted out to safety ahead by the US Army ahead of our last 16 clash. The dream then cuts to a preview segment with George Hamilton preparing to do a preview piece to camera somewhere near the Rhine in Dusseldorf, Germany. A bomb rains down on a bridge and the bridge collapses and kills George Hamilton and his cameraman.
3
I am talking to Jamie Carragher on the Salmon Weir bridge in Galway on a lovely sunny summer morning. The Salmon Weir bridge is pedestrianised. Carragher is looking up towards the weir. We discuss Paul Gascoigne, who is back playing for France in a European Championship. France are playing England in a quarter-final tie this evening at the old Wembley and Gascoigne has been playing sublime football in his substitute appearances for France so far at this tournament.
I then find myself on a Luas on University Road in Galway having just attended this game, which is held at an open air, roofless stadium which is a mixture of the old Wembley and St. Tiernach’s Park in Clones on a warm sunny evening. The location of this stadium is where the Regional Hospital in Galway is. As the the Luas winds it way past Galway Cathedral back into the centre of Galway I am talking to Bobby Robson who has also attended as a spectator. He is delighted with Gazza’s performance. Kieran Trippier nods and says hello to me on the Luas and I see Kevin Keegan walking across the Salmon Weir bridge as the Luas crosses it. Further on, Jack Charlton is walking ahead and I observe him going down into the Corrib, which is at very low tide, dressed in wellies and a Barbour jacket, carrying a fishing rod and a can of beans.