more nocturnal surreality

Another night, another weird dream made of disjointed images mashed into something that does not quite make a story. Or if there is a story it is fairly surreal. Anyway, last night went a something like this.

So I am in a car and the feeling I have is that Sal's brother Adam is in the car with me, though as often in my dreams it is a feeling rather than knowing by sight. We are driving along the road my maternal grandparents lived on and see, in a driveway, a kayak. Then another, and another and in fact quite a few. From there we jump to a place that sort of switches between being my Dad's lounge room and an electircal applicance store. Again not by sight but by sense I am sitting next to DJ. I have had a row with Sal, and given the location I suspect it is about the fridge door colour-cost thing. ANyway, Sal storms out front of the shop (exit dream right) and I take issue with my Dad (dream left), who I DO recognise by sight. I have a go at him for telling me how to treat my wife. Looking forward to analysing that one. Dad is wearing a brown overcoat. No idea why I remember that. Anyway, Dad goes out front of the house and gives a lift down to Morden to Sal, DJ and maybe others that I do not regognise; not sure on numbers. In his early 1980's Granada. Nice motor, though to the best of my knowledge he has never owned one. I head over to get the bus from the stop outside of St. Lawrence's Church, Morden. I'm on my way to work. Opposite Dad's house was a very large queue of traffic, but I cannot remember if it was actually a traffic queue or a load of parked cars. Not sure where this next bit fits in, but the downstairs front left window of Dad's house is covered in plastic and taped up because someone - I cannot recall who - put a bit of concrete through it. The concrete chunk was still in the front garden. There was something about breakfast downstairs near Morden station, and a pair of jeans in a draw. I have no idea where those bits fit; I just kinda recall the images. The bus I got to Morden was a futuristic affair with a hydraulic loweing door and lots of plastic. Few, if any, windows. It also had a conductor, who joked that my fare was thirty two pounds before telling me it was actually forty pence. I remember very small handles to hold on to in the bus. And that is about it. Weird.

Some analysis. I am thinking of getting a kayak, partly because Adam has a surf ski. That is easy. The argument and the appliance store is our new fridge, and the argument is, well, Sally and I argue over stoopid stuff. Dad's Granada is likely to be a reference to a very well maintained 80s Ford Fairmont I saw in the city yesterday. DJ was there at breakfast, or thereabouts, because last night I uploaded to flickr a picture of him at a brunch. Dads overcoat was like a coat worn by the Irish bloke on Australian Idol last night. Why I had a word with Dad about telling me how to speak to Sal, and the thing with the concrete through the window and the traffic - in fact all of the Morden references, and the one I think was Mytchett, where the grandparents lived - have me stumped. The row with Dad about speaking may be because I have not managed to speak to Dad on my last few attempts, just leaving a few messages. All very odd the way the brain shuffles and rearranges itself when my lights go out.