i wanted to be a policeman. it was a dream. never happened. colour blindness. it could be a reason why i like crime novels so much.
in the dream i seem to be at a funeral. it is the funeral of a city official. there are many people gathered, there are many graves, all with very low headstones. no one is looking to a grave they are all looking forward to where people will face them to give a eulogy. many are dressed in uniforms, at the back of crowd there is a gaggle of people who are in suits, from their top pockets dangle their detective badges.
now because this is a dream the graveyard/ funeral is taking place in the open and sometimes indoors.
i am there with a set of camera.
as i walk to the back i notice that all the graves have cameras placed on them so as to catch the speakers who will be standing in front of the grave. each of the camera are different styles, they form a history of hand-held cameras.
i take position at the back and take my camera out and prepare to take some photos of the speakers. although i have a large camera i am trying to keep a low profile.
i am there because i am trying to track someone down. someone who has done something that makes him a dirty copper.
as i take photos i am mingling.
i have a cover story. something about being the estranged boyfriend of a cop who is there trying to find her.
as i am taking photos i am changing the lenses on the camera.
i notice that there is something wrong with the camera, it looks like the glass has melted. i change it and then it looks like it has been dappled. i take a photo and it looks like a line drawing rather than a photo. so there is a little bit of panic about me.
i am leaning up against a wall, there is a window and i am looking outside.
there is an announcement and the detectives start to move out, for some reason i think i should move out with them. i go back to my seat, sort of stuff out of my bag and then leave, going into a corridor i realise that people are looking at me. i go the other way down the corridor; luckily there is a toilet there, as i go i rehearse my cover story.
the toilet turns out to be a combination of dining area, fishpond and toilets. the tables to eat from are wooden slatted things that you see in gardens, bright pine. the kitchen/serving area is closed, the doors to it looking very much like they have been knocked up from any piece of wood that could have been found.
i am the only person in there.
to get to the toilets you have to wade through the fishpond.
as i start to wade the radio starts and a child and mum are being interviewed about how nice the oasis boys were. the sound is large, tinny and echoes all over. oasis seem to have given the family a lot of cash so that the kid can get something it needs. there is surprise and happiness in the voices of the family.
the pond water looks very dirty, there are plastic toys floating in it. i am not keen to walk through it.