I felt a little queasy when I got home – nothing serious; just a bit of a dicky tummy – and so I went to bed early.
There then followed a whole orchestra of different little bits-and-pieces which meant I had a troubled non-sleep.
Little bits of coughing (nothing unusual there – someone once gave me the unwieldy nickname John ‘Irritating Cough’ Fleming).
But I also had a burning, acidy feeling inside my chest and in a vertical line down my front – presumably acid reflux. And hiccups. And some bouts of building coughing which never quite got to the actual puke point but which came pretty close. And what seemed like sniffles of the nose like the start of a cold but which, I guess, were caused by the orgasms of coughing annoying my nasal passages.
Eventually, some time in the middle of the night, I DID mercifully get to the point of mild vomiting in the toilet and that seemed to get me over whatever it was.
But the point is that – somewhere in among all this fitful sleeping – I can’t remember exactly where – I woke up in the middle of a dream which, as long-term readers of this blog will know, means I was actually aware of what was in my dream. I only ever remember having a dream perhaps once every six months if I wake up during one.
I was in a tube train at Camden Town station. No mystery there, as that is the tube station for Camden Lock, where I had been in the afternoon.
The carriage was quite crowded with lots of people and, of course, they all had different faces.
But, as well as being aware of their different faces, I was aware of the unique, separate strands of their individual lives. I could understand what each person was feeling at that exact moment and how it fitted into their life strand – when they were a child and in their twenties and how their life stretched ahead of them in experiences until their death.
And, as I looked from face to face, I could move from life to life and could experience how all the strands ran separately and how, for just these few minutes, they intersected.
Unique strands running through the same decades but separately, leading to this brief intersection, then each stretching separately ahead along their own unique strand to death.
So it goes.
Who needs drugs?