I think I know myself pretty well. I have been therapied to within an inch of my life, after all.
Every now and again my unconscious throws me up a dream, just to remind me that I'm not quite as in charge as my rather smug observing self believes. It's the usual stuff - car brakes won't work/being chased by scary people/naked on toilet in lift......
(The 'naked on toilet in lift with doors about to open' is the mother of all anxiety dreams, and if you've never had it I suggest you have a long hard word with your psyche right now. It's something that everyone should try at least once in their lives, rather like taking acid or going to a Kylie concert.)
Every now and again my unconscious throws me something entirely random - just to take the piss probably - which I then feel utterly compelled to make some sense of. It's my job, innit?
So, to last night's offerings.........
I visit the local farmer, riding my giant dustbuster. Apparently it's a very green mode of transport and is surprisingly comfortable. It's just an added bonus that it cleans the roads as you ride.
I park up my oversized but ecologically sound dustbuster, to be greeted by his giant hamsters. I am pleased, for it is indeed the giant hamsters which have prompted my visit. We have a weasel problem, you see, and the giant hamsters provide excellent weasel control.
Of course I can borrow them, he says, and whilst he sorts out the paperwork - which is all in Spanish - he tells me about the Blues band he plays in and when they are next gigging. I make a mental note.
He harnesses up the hamsters - the last thing you want is these things running wild - and I ask for his phone number in case something goes wrong. He gives me it in Spanish, French and Italian and I mount my dustbuster, musing on how educated these farmers are.
My sister once had a dream that she was riding a Netto carrier bag in the parents' carrier bag race at the school sports day. She won.