Drifting Off

Awake at dawn again, I made a cup of coffee, took it back to bed and started working on my WIP, but ended up drifting off.

I was happy with how the interaction between my main protagonist and another key character was going when I must have drifted back to sleep. I dreamt very vividly about a friend of mine who, for purposes of this post, I will call Roo.

Roo lives in London these days, so I don’t see him very often, but in my dream, he was driving four of us around the USA in his car. I always associate him with up-market cars and driving-through-Europe, and beyond, holidays. In my dream, he had an extraordinary car which, when you pressed the pinger to lock it, it folded up to toy car size. Impregnable to car thieves.

We were searching for something or somebody. Aren’t we always in dreams? There was nothing on the roads, so it must have been Lockdown. Driving along some pretty rough terrain, Roo was voicing his concerns about the pummeling his undercarriage was taking, when suddenly, the road petered out altogether. A rather large ditch lay between the road and a track beyond. We all got out of the car to investigate.

‘If I take a run at it, it should be fine.’ Says Roo, and we all seem to think it would be a perfectly okay thing to do, and climb back in the car. Roo reverses the vehicle back before putting his foot down, and we fly. We brace ourselves for landing, which seems a long time coming, but when we do come down to earth with a bump, Roo’s prize motor is nose deep in a snowdrift.

‘Ah, well, at least it was a comparatively soft landing.’ He says brightly. The only problem is that the car doesn’t work, and we are miles away from anywhere, and I sense Roo’s mood darkening. He hits the steering wheel with his hand a couple of times, before getting out of the car.

‘Come on. There are a few buildings up ahead, let’s hope one of them is a garage.’ 

Welcome to Devil’s Finger. The now crumbling paint of the ivy-covered town sign doesn’t bode well. A one-finger salute more recently daubed under the word finger.

‘Charming!’ Says Roo.  

We walk towards the first building. The sinister creaking of the hanging board above the front door makes us look up simultaneously.

‘Oh, Thénardier’s Inn.’ I say. ‘At least we’ll be able to get a drink.’  

The door bursts open, and Helena Bonham-Carter storms out and slams the door behind her. A look of thunder on her face

‘Master of the house, isn’t worth my spit. Comforter, philosopher, and lifelong shit!*’ 

When she sees us, she stops, smiles and shimmies towards us. 

‘Madame Thénardier at your service Mesdames and Messieurs. What can I get for you? Wine, beer, or coffee?’

‘Can I get you a cup of coffee?’

‘What? I’m asleep! Go away!’

“Oh, my goodness! I’m so sorry, but you’re never normally still asleep at 9.30 a.m.’

How long I was dreaming about driving around the USA for, I have no idea. Not very long, I suspect. What I do know is that somewhere between dawn and falling asleep, I am happy to say my WIP increased by 1000 words.

* © Herbert Kretzmer lyricist Les Miserables

Thank you very much for visiting my niche-less blog! If you have time before you leave, would love you to tell us what you think. All the best, Tessa Barrie

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