“We know there are only a few months to go when the Chelsea nightmares start to kick in. I’ve had my first: the protagonist knows who he is as I called him in the cold light of day to tell him off about his appearance in my dream, in which he, at the 2012 show, decides to change his design at the last minute, incorporating, instead of the proposed structure, a life-size galleon made of Playmobil. The garden was accessorised by matching pine wardrobes and chests of drawers. I have absolutely no idea where this would come from, but if a ship appears on Main Avenue in May, you heard it here first.”
I’ve forgiven Mr. Sturgeon. He knows I wasn’t bothered as much about the pine as I was about the height at which he piled it. He has been a gentleman in suffering without complaint from that ‘completely innocent victim of a bad dream’ situation.
In reality, matters are productive. The prototype of the seats was thrown out in what can only described as a Prima Donna moment: “It is NOT Father Christmas’s grotto and if I want a sleigh I’ll ask for it”. Neither becoming nor productive. I’m a bit embarrassed.
The trees, however, are fabulous even in their nakedness.
Shiny, slightly peachy stems and a very nice blue sky which would be very handy on the Judgement Day, please.
And this way round would be good. Last night I dreamed that they were growing upside down, and woke up with an image of a dozen judges standing round the trees, assessing their rootballs 6m in the air.
My second best bit of this week has to be visiting Herbert Hall to ensure that the wine they are kindly supplying to sit in the cooler, is just right.
