The Back Garden Of Woodstock Drive (night of 03/12/2015)

I have returned to Woodstock Drive once more. I am in the garden rather than the interior of the house which happens more frequently in these dreams. I think my Dad is there - and another man who is the current owner / resident of the house. I look about the garden noting the changes - or the things I had forgotten was there. The great stone wall bordering one edge of the garden. I am surprised to see the willow tree is no longer there. What has happened to it? Dad and the new man laugh - they are not surprised it had gone - too close to the house or something. I notice a dip in the garden - some kind of depression. I think that were I a kid I would have loved playing in that depression. I run down into it, and then up the other side, I am no longer in the garden (and almost feel that I am on the verge of waking up). Dappled sunlight. Powerful resonance. I recognise that I am in the 'poplar house', less a place and rather a state of mind. Some kind of ecstasy. The path gets steeper, and I am reminded of another dream where I was attenpting to ascend a simlarly steep path in a small wood in the  centre of a field. In that dream I had the encouragement of Bracken (a long dead Yorkshire Terrier) to help me on. In that dream I didn't succeed, but in this dream I am determined to. I must keep going until I reach the plateue,. I must not open my eyes till then. I am not sure I have reached the plateau but I open my eyes anyway. What will I see now that I have reached this previously unreachable point? I look behind me, and I see two very English looking lanes vanishing into an almost foggy twilight darkness - a similar lane is in front of me. Which one to choose> Everything is dripping with a deep and resonant mystery.

The Face In The Attic (night of 15/11/2015_

The attic is an unknown state. I have never been up there. I am with Pete and someone else - possibly Andrew. The open trap door to the attic is sinister and dark. Andrew ansd Pete are suddenly afraid of something - a face at the end of the arric. They shine torches down. I am afraid to, but I am still on the landing. I join them in the attic.
The attic is light and airy. I look toward the end, where the face that has frightened them is. It is a cheap Hallowe'en mask, showing the Creatuire From The Black Lagoon.
All interest in the face is immediately lost
I haven't been in the attic for ages! I start rooting through boxes of old things - all the stuff in the attic is mine. I notice a carpetted stairway leading down to a lower levek of the attic. It is clogged with clothes and rubbish and bixes. I almost suggest going down there, but there is something about it that - well, doesn't exactly disturb me, but puts me off further investigation.

Deep In Southside (morning of 02/08/2015)

I am walking through Southside with C. from work. I am very pleased to - finally - be walking through Southside as night falls - finally I shall be here at the mystical time when the street lamps come on! C. is telling me how her husband L. is angry with me because he thinks that I fancy C. We both agree how ridiculous this is. C. Lives in Southside and we are presumably going to her house. She lives deep, deep, deep in Southside - beyond even 66 Abbey Crescent - that unobtainable goal of all these dreams. Southside is large and deep and dramatic - more buildings than when I lived here - more people too, running about in the darkness. Vast orange street lamps running down sharply angled, quickly shadowed streets. Trying to appreciate being at Southside after dark. I then notice that it has got light again. This does not seem that odd in the dream. We come to my old house - the buildings now seem to be housed inside some kind of  giant P.E.Gym hall, like at school. The houses themselves - we can peek inside - seem not to be houses any more but giant launderettes / washing rooms. Women peek out at us, They do not seem particularly interested in my wild gesticulations that I used to live here. We walk on, and find ourselves in an enclosed walkway - very much like the walkways found in airports. It is bright daylight now. I look up and see my old friend Paul. I greet him. He looks at me and recognizes me (in waking life, Paul has been lost to schizophrenia for many years). We have an awakward conversation that does not make real sense. We walk on. I explain to C. the nature of Paul's illness. She says that he lives on his own in Southside and 'runs rings around the houses' - which I take to mean that he spends most of his days just wandering around the estate. The walkway comes to an end - and in the bright sun I see a number of teenage boys / young men, lying on the grass, face down, not moving. They are sleeping - or resting - but the very unnaturalness of their poses suggests something else - death, or perhaps some other kind of corruption whose nature I can only begin to contemplate.

Too Late For Emily Jones (morning of 02/08/2015)

A sunny day. I am in some kind of building that is either used for work or education. This building is not known in real life. It has the feel of June - an end of term feeling. Lots of people about. I leave the building - at the behest of a friend. There is a group of people playing instruments and singing on the lawn. One of them is the folk singer Emily Jones. I sit down on the grass to watch her, The gig comes to an end. The musicians disappear inside. Cold shadows. I wait for them to come back out. I am too late again.

Overflowing River (night of 10/07/2015)

I am in the countryside walking along a wide path. To my left there is bucolic countryside; farmland, fields, trees etc. To my right, and raised above the height of the path I am on is  a river. The river - which may be man made much like a canal - has many interesting weirs and waterfalls. I am interested in watching the foamy water fall. The river suddenly overflows. It comes onto the path I am on. I leap up onto a raised embankment on the other side of the path. I watch the water cover the path and rise. I hide down in the grass. The foamy water is level to where I am.

Roller Coaster Ride (night of 10/07/2015)

I suddenly realize that I am not on a train leading to a station - or perhaps some kind of tourist destination. I realize I am on a roller coaster ride. I look about in terror. The roller coaster - there seems to be no-one else on it - is ascending through a corridor. we are going up high. Soon, I think, I shall be flung about this way and that at high speeds, and there is nothing I can do.

Wall Drain Casing (night of 25/05/2015)

I am in a house I do not know in waking life. Wide rooms, White light, Andy may be here too. Other people. There is a casing on the wall that I have lifted off which gives access to a sewer system. I am investigating this with a couple of other people. Crawling through tunnels on our hands and kness. The ever deepening feel of the labyrinth.
Back in the house someone in a position of authority visits. He has noticed that the casing on the wall has been disturbed. I know he will ask me about it and I try to come up with some kind of not very realistic excuse.
Streets full of dark green trees, The summer deeps.

Remembering A Brief Return to Colorama (night of 02/04/2015)

It seemed that before my present job (presumably as a charity fundraiser, my waking-life job) I had returned to work to the photo shop Colorama I had worked in (in waking life) back in 2000 /2001. In my dream I was remembering how odd it was that I had worked there for a short while - returning to retail. I was in a branch where I knew no-one. I was quite pleased with this as I had originally left Colorama in less than perfect circumstances. I remembered putting out frames for photographs, working with the new manager and colleagues. I remembered the unfamiliar part of town it was set in. I was very pleased I had only worked there for a few days before my current job - probably as a charity fundraiser.

New Job at the Eastenders Cafe (night of 02/04/2015)

I have a new job working in the Eastenders cafe. This is used as a set and is also an actual cafe. It also bears no resemblance to the television cafe. The character Kathy - or the actress who plays her Gillian Taylforth - is working there too. I am very excited to be shown 'behind the scenes' as it were.

New Campaign At Work (night of 02/04/2015)

I am on a new campaign at work. This is a charity that seems to involve talking to elderly Daily Mail readers who also like horror films. We are not given any time to research the charity. Waiting in the break room with other people. Being taken into a large windowless room to call supporters. Not being given the chance to read the script. Puzzled as to if we have to ask for direct debit details.

Woodstock Drive Is Haunted Again (night of 30/03/3015)

I am back in 33 Woodstock Drive. I am allowed to stay for a while. No-one else is in the house. It is night-time. In the radio there is a programme - a documentary dealing with the hauntings of a certain 33 Woodstock Drive. I get too spooked out listening to a programme about the house I am in, particularly as I am alone in the house. Tiger, my old cat is there - as is our old dog Bruno (?). I am in my room. I think someone else has joined me - perhaps my sister. I am watching the strip of light under my door - waiting for the shadow of ghostly footsteps. It transpires that 33 Woodstock Drive os haunted by a Victorian orphan girl. I am not sure how I come by this information,

The Pit on the Sussex Downs (night of 26/03/2015)

I have taken a walk onto the Sussex Downs, and have found a small pit in the ground. I climb down into this pit - rather like a depression that may become a pool after heavy rains. I know that animals use this pit to shelter from the cold and rain. The pit is sheltered by a cobwebby network of what appears to be rope, covered with bits of cellophane. The cellophane does not cover all the holes in the webbing, and sunlight - the kind of sunlight that often comes after rain - shines through. I know that this pit was once part of some army training ground - made by the military so soldiers could practise being in some kind of trench warfare environment, and dates back to the first world war. I discover this while I am in the pit - (can't remember now if this was from some online source or a book I had found). After the war, the pit was allowed to degenerate and be used by the aforementioned animals. I look at the sides of the pit and discover that - indeed - I can see planks of wood and stones. It is man-made, I look at the edges of the sharp pieces of wood that line the walls of the pit. They look like faces. Very much like the faces of evil monsters - but creatures as drawn by children. They remind me of the Hallowe'en masks I used to make. There is some kind of accidental chair structure either in the pit with me - or just outside the webbing that covers the pit. There is also the form of a figure sitting in the chair - but this is just made from the accidental patterns of the chair - or whatever branches or leaves may be on the chair. A man walks past the pit. He looks very much like me, but this does not register in my dream. I take my camera out and begin to take a picture of the chair. In the screen of camera the figure in the chair looks very much like a figure indeed, Demonic black eyes. I am quite excited by this and set about taking more photographs. I then notice that the figure is actually rising from the chair, and is now floating in the air. I become alarmed by this. I look down at the screen of my camera and discover that it is showing a scene from elsewhere - not where I am. it shows the figure in the chair, walking with two other figures down a bleak country lane under iron-grey skies. The figures are thin, and drawn - malevolent and have that shocked look of the figure from Munch's 'The Scream'. They are walking toward me.

Petrol Station Lands (night of 15/01/2015)

A complicated mish-mash pf images.
At various points of this dream I am with Pam, Jen (?) and Spencer. Much of this dream seems to be set aropund the petrol station on the Old Shoreham Road. Spencer has found pages from an old diary I have kept and is reading them out. The entries are very embarrassing. Someone (I'm not sure who) says that he 'doesn't see why he has to keep reading them out'.
With Pam in a shop. Dark. Evening. Pam talks about being married. She looks older. I tell her I will never experience being married.
In and out of buildings, possibly railway stations that resemble old London tube stations. brickwork and rain. Waiting at one of the railways stations. Do I know when my train is? A feeling of discomfort.
Back at the petrol station. Has there been a murder? Are the police looking for bodies? Vague memories of ticker tape.
I am waiting for everyone else - I am not sure where they are. I stand looking along the Old Shoreham Road. I think of how much this view means to me when I worked here, how often and I stood and longed to be walking up the road after finishing work.
I notice a house just across the road from the petrol station (not there in waking life). The house has been burnt out. Black windows. I start to imagine what it would be like inside; broken rafters, unsafe floors, burnt out rooms. I wonder what it would be like to be inside but conclude it would be too dangerous.