Green Hand

In last night's dream I was working my drudge of an admin job which was strangely situated in my parents' back garden. Next door there was a lush and blooming community garden maintained by a team of conservationists called Green Hand or something, and I had had my eye on their organisation for a long time. I arranged to do some volunteer work with them on my lunch break, and was recruited by a kindly, plump middle-aged lady with rosy cheeks. It was a hot summer's day and the two gardens were baking beneath a fierce sun. When my lunch break finally came around, I closed down my desk, and unravelled the hose pipe. My task was to top up the water in the pond next door, to maintain the biodiversity and ensure there was enough moisture for the amphibians living there.

In the community garden, I was about to start filling up the pond when I saw two salamanders mating. Such a rare occurrence called for a photo, so I took my phone out of my pocket. Just at that moment, my boss turned up and asked why I had abandoned my post. I tried to explain that it was my lunch break and I was supposed to be helping out here, but she led me away saying there were more important, work-related matters to discuss. I begrudgingly threw the hose down and followed her out of the garden, biting back resentment. I cast a quick glance at the many toads and frogs swimming beneath the surface of the pond, or sprawled out over lily pads.

When my shift ended, I explained to the Green Hand lady that I had been unable to complete the task she assigned me. However, she cheerfully told me that another job awaited should I feel up to it. In the fields behind the house, a herd of zebras had strayed too far from their pasture, and she wanted me to corral them back in. I went out into the fields, long yellow savannah grass tickling my bare legs. The zebras would run off as I got closer, so I circled round behind them and began herding them back towards where they needed to be. There were a number of foals with fuzzy manes and velvety muzzles, and all the animals were bathed in a soft golden glow. A feeling of intense well-being and contentment swept over me as I completed the job.

The Drunk Tank

In possibly the strangest dream I've had concerning the crowded tank motif, this time I was sitting in an Irish pub getting my drink on. Because I left it a few days before writing this dream down, I've forgotten quite a few details, such as who I was with and what the occasion was. Drinking some strange concoctions that were a mixture between Guinness and absinthe, I noticed that there was a large water filled tank in the centre of the pub. The water was murky green but I became aware of a glowing moth that had fallen in and was somehow fluttering about underwater. I was overcome with a desire to rescue the moth, but at the same time, I was afraid to go near it.

There was a net on a long handled pole nearby, so I scooped this into the water and tried to snag the moth. Whilst sifting through the sludgy water in an attempt to grab it, I became aware of all the other creatures inside. These other animals, mostly fish, were making half-hearted attempts to swallow the moth, but it managed to avoid them. At the bottom of the tank was a swollen conger eel with a venomous looking head and glassy, glaring eyes. The sight of it filled me with crippling terror, and I dropped the net into the water. The eel opened its tapered jaws and swiped at the glowing moth, but it managed to evade death once again.

Suddenly a stream of bubbles gurgled up to the surface of the tank, and a sperm whale bobbed into view. It was of course, much reduced in size, having the proportions of a big seal. The whale opened its mouth wide, showing gums that were peeling away from the teeth, and a tongue festering with infection. Something green and unwholesome oozed from the creatures mouth as it rested its chin on the side of the tank. It let out a low, lingering sigh, and died. As it did so, the head began to decompose, and a squishy set of inner jaws came burbling out, as though emitting a diseased tumour. The whole repulsive spectacle was like a hangover personified.

London Wildlife Park

In my dream last night I aimlessly walked the streets of London like a flaneur, waiting for Li to finish a conference meeting. It was a cold but sunny afternoon and, perhaps drawn by the greenery, I eventually found myself near Regents Park and the zoo district. Adjacent to the zoo was a dilapidated public garden called London Wildlife Park. A signs on the premise indicated that it was an extension to the zoo which had been built a long time ago during Victorian times. It was however, poorly maintained, overgrown, and with a general air of mildew hanging over it. Several ponds, lakes, and water fountains dotted the area, with paved walks interconnecting them.

A flock of bedraggled and pale feathered flamingos sulked beneath a weeping willow, and other water birds mooched sullenly across lily pads. Sea-lions and small crocodiles basked in the warm patches of sunlight that filtered down through the trees. A groundsman appeared on the scene with a bucket of feed and began to prepare the afternoon meal. Immediately the animals roused themselves from their inertia and kicked up an excited clamour. The flamingos squawked and called to one another, the sea lions bobbed up and down with expectation, following the keeper's movements, and even the crocs craned their heads in the direction of the lunch pail.

I took my camera out to take some photos of this unexpected menagerie just as one of the crocodiles lunged for the nearest sea-lion. They got their jaws locked together and thrashed about in rage, but were ineffective in inflicting serious injury. As I was about to take a photo, a young man in tight pink spandex blocked my view with his head and asked what I was doing. I tried to angle the camera around him but he thwarted me a second time, at which point I lost my temper and told him to get out of the way. "You don't want to go on a date with me do you?" he asked scornfully, and I assured him that I did not.

Missing my opportunity to photograph the fighting beasts, I tucked my camera away and decided to visit the main zoo to kill some time, but the young man persisted in following me. "What do you want?" I asked. "I think you're attractive," he said. "Well the feeling's not mutual, so piss off!" I retorted, but he refused to budge. He began telling me about the wildlife park and how it was reserved for aquatic animals, with the more interesting ones such as 'big cats' next door. I told him that I happened to prefer aquatic animals, at which point he wandered off and I was free to continue my visit.

Tywin's Trilobites

In this dream I was attending a sea lion show at another zoo with family. For some reason, my family are always present in zoo dreams these days, even though they've traditionally been lonesome experiences. I generally don't get on well with sea lions in dreams, having been badly mauled on two previous occasions, and last night's was no exception. It started with us watching the demonstration at a poorly attended show, sitting on concrete concentric rings around the main stage. There were three pinnipeds at the performance, a black sea lion, an albino fur seal, and a strange hybrid, a creature with the iconic spiraling tusk of a narwhal but the body of a walrus.

About halfway through the show I suddenly remembered that sea lion performances were cruel and so chivied my family into protesting. Our protest was probably one of the weakest and most impotent demonstrations ever made in the history of animal rights campaigning, and mostly involved us not clapping with the rest of the audience. A trick that the staff were particularly fond of making their animals perform was a maneuver involving the sea-lions balancing on their throats whilst raising their bodies and hind quarters vertically into the air and balancing in this position. It caused tremendous pressure to weigh down on their necks and spines.

Near the end of the performance, the white fur seal broke out of the arena and came galloping towards me. I decided that the best tactic was to show no fear and stand my ground, but this time it had no effect. The seal rammed into me like Pierre, our standard poodle, and began chewing on my arms and torso. I tried to push its head away but it kept bouncing back to deliver more bites on my hands. I attempted to run but it maintained a firm grip on my arm, so I started punching it in the head. As soon as it released its jaws for a second, I took the opportunity to run for the car as fast as I could, but the seal came after me in hot pursuit, honking and hollering in fury. I woke up before more damage could be done.

Tywin desperately wanted to devote more time to his passion, but matters of war kept him busy. Close-by the study was a cinema featuring a primitive projector showing films and documentaries about the history of life on Earth. I'm not sure where the electricity came from. I was an eager yet sometimes distracted student who spent a lot of time daydreaming, an unfortunate habit Tywin lost no time in punishing severely. I can't say he was a particularly pleasant master to be indentured to, but turn his mind away from war and onto his favourite subject and he would momentarily forget his ire to animatedly discuss biology. Get the facts wrong however, and he spared no quarter on discipline. In other words, I lived under the constant threat of torture and execution. Not an awful lot happened in the dream and I never got to venture beyond the walls of Casterley Rock, bound as I was to the tending of the trilobites.