Waking two fuzzy-headed hours later than normal to the cheery shaking of my cheeks administered by David Tennant doing his coochy-coo face was a pleasant start to my day.
The dream fresh in my mind, I lay awhile and watched it again from the beginning.
It was the middle of nowhere, and the dead of a star-filled summer night – ideal for spotting UFOs or picking up transmissions from afar. Down a spiralling concreted road to a small brick building, that’s where I was. Computers beeped and buzzed (probably my alarm clock shouting at me); monitors showed the starry heavens, and a coffee machine fizzled its last for the night. There was a bed, a couple of chairs, and that’s about it. This was like one of those SETI watching stations as portrayed in the X-Files or Close Encounters.
I decided to give it up for the night, locked up and started the walk up the spiralling concrete road (to consciousness?) when something moving in the air, flapping, twisting, … “Is it an owl?” (or a plane?) I said.
“That’s no owl,” my dream-self said. “There’s people… I hear people… RUN!”
So I did. Back down the spiralling road, into the `bunker`, slamming the door behind me, but soon to be overpowered as a throng of scantily clad `ladies` surged through the door and jumped on the bed. (how they all fitted I’ve no idea)
They were dressed for a night on the town and then some, giggling, cooing, as if they’d had a few already. Then David Tennant arrived (no I do not have a secret fantasy), or more precisely The Doctor, complete with long coat and cheeky smile.
“Oh,” he said. “You’re not supposed to be here… I’m, uhm, I’m sorry, I was looking for somewhere to um,” he looked to the heaving mass of females on the bed and then back to me, “you know.” Then he put a finger to his lips. “Shhh, don’t tell a soul,” he said before opening the door and leading the girls out.
I ran after them, up the spiralling road (to consciousness?) and came to a stop by not one Tardis but TWO (Tardi?)
Neither Tardis was the one we all know and love. Both were fashioned in the familiar form of the blue police box, but the first was slightly wider, slightly deeper, slightly taller, had extra windows. The second, parked at its side, was huge. Three metres by three metres by four metres. HUGE. I stepped forward intent on opening the door.
“No – no – no – no – no!” Tennant said in his best Doctor’s voice. He grabbed my wrist, spun me round. “You can’t go in there.”
My dream-self did not protest. (I wonder if it was smaller on the inside)
“These are just for – ahem – nights out,” Tennant said. “Won’t say a word, will you?” he winked and flashed the Tennant grin.
“I won’t,” I said.
He gripped my cheeks and did his coochy-coo face. “You beauty!” he said, in the way that only David Tennant can.
The stuff that dreams are made of. What a wonderful world they live in.
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