The Emperor and Boris Johnson

Isn't it frustrating, the way you tend to forget your dreams the moment you wake up? (If you're one of the lucky few who don't, rest assured most of us do). One minute, there you were doing something you can't remember anything about except that it was vivid, surreal or intriguing, the next you're breathing the stale air of a slept-in bedroom and gazing at the sun filtering through the bedroom curtains, with nothing more exciting to look forward to than putting your socks on.

I looked into this a bit. I discovered that dream-researchers have determined that if, as you begin to drop off, you say, 'I want to remember my dreams' over and over a few times, it really does make you more likely to remember them. I was surprised to find it works.

I started to keep a dream diary. It quickly became obvious (to me, at least) that the act of doing this also helps you remember. I discovered, too, that like life itself, it's not for the faint-hearted. Dreams can be hilarious, but they can also be eerie and unnerving. One night you might bump into Donald Trump in a paper hat, sweeping the floor in a MacDonald's, the next, someone whose face you never see can take you on a journey through a dark place to meet a dead relative. If I'd not kept it up, though, I'd never have gone for a bike ride with Father Brown, lived in eighteenth century Scotland or got to push my son out of the way of an out-of-control tram.

One night in December 2021, the Prime Minister announced he was going to play Beethoven's Fifth Piano Concerto, the Emperor. People might have a low opinion of him, he said, but wait till they heard it. They'd be impressed.

I was working as a school-teacher at the time (in the dream). Originally, it was said that he'd come to our school to perform it, but there was such an outcry that it would contravene covid regulations (which ones? Who knows? It was a dream) that this plan was dropped. Instead, he'd perform it at a local hall. At lunchtime, the children trooped off in a 'crocodile' to hear him. It was compulsory.

The sight of him plonked in front of a piano tickling the ivories is one I'll never forget. I didn't get to hear him play for very long, but it quickly became clear that his hand and finger movements were not co-ordinated with the sound of the music. He was pretending to play the concerto on a fake piano, playing along to a recording and hoping no-one would notice.

I kept the diary up for about six months. On the plus side, it lent purpose to the hours I spent in bed asleep. I looked forward to dropping off, wondering what I was going to be treated to each night. On the other hand, it was time-consuming and, although there were occasional insights, it began to feel as if I were accumulating a load of junk, stuff you have no use for but can't bring yourself to throw away. I'd been writing a lot of short stories and hoped the diary would be a source of ideas, but quickly discovered what I should've realised from the outset, that dreams and stories are structured very differently.

However, during the lockdowns in 2020, like lots of other people, I found myself exploring my local area. I'm pleased that I did. I have to admit, I started to notice things I'd not noticed before and now find it a far more richly interesting place than I used to. I started making short films about it with my mobile phone. One – the idea of a dream diary must've been brewing in my head at the time – was called: The Dream (<<< just click on the title to activate the hyperlink to YouTube.)

Thanks for reading, Dominic.