Dream #3 – Slobbered on by Tigers

This is an odd one. But then all dreams are odd, aren’t they? I don’t know why I keep saying that.

I was on a coach. It was the wrong coach. I don’t know where I was going or where I wanted to go, but I know it was the wrong coach. It was night time and the coach drove all night. When the sun came up we were driving along a country road and it was really sunny. On each side their were fields with people in them and in each field, there were different extinct megafauna. There was a Mammoth, a Paraceratherium, an Arsinoitherium and an Elasmotherium. Then the coach stopped next a field with huge tigers in it.

The tigers were mingling with tall Indian mystics in purple robes. We all got off the coach and went into the field and the mystics all started looking at me. They came over to me and kept saying the same word over and over – “khani”. As they said it the letters went through my head – “k-h-a-n-i”. Then two of the tigers came over and started slobbering all over my head, and the mystics continued to chant “khani, khani, khani…”

The act of slobbering on me seemed to be some sort of ritual. Eventually they stopped and just wandered off and left me there covered in thick, gloopy, tiger spit. Nice.


MISSING: 9 YEAR OLD GINGER TOM – a 900 Club Short Story

Here is my latest short story for the 900 Club. Check it out for four more very different stories, all inspired by October’s two word “phrase”: Stephen Fry.


by Martin


What are you doing here?

I just thought I would say hello.

Hello. I didn’t think I would see you again.

You’re looking a bit dishevelled. What happened to you?

I’ve had a few beers.

Look at the state of you. You’ve got a rip in your sleeve.

I think I bumped into a wall on my way home.

And fell over.


And passed out.


Did you wake up on the floor outside the Broadwalk?

Yes, how did you know?

I recognise the pattern on your face. You’re bleeding.

It’s just a bit of a scrape.

You should really wash the grit out of it.

Later. I’m knackered.

It’s getting late, haven’t you got to work in the morning?

I’m not going in.

Why not?

I don’t feel well.

I’m not surprised, how long have you been drinking?

Since Friday, I think.

No wonder you’re such a mess. Have you been arrested again?

No, the copper gave me a lift home. He seemed to feel sorry for me. I woke up to find him peering down at me, it was the loveliest vision of a policeman I’ve ever seen.

Christ, you don’t even make them angry any more. When even the police feel sympathy, you know you are beyond pathetic. You look like you’ve just been dug up.

I feel like it.

Your knuckles are bruised, have you been fighting?

Well spotted, Columbo. Anyway, so what if I have, you’re always out there fighting.

That’s different and you know it, I am protecting the garden. When was the last time you ate?

I had a kebab last night.


That’s rich coming from you, I’ve seen what you eat.

You’ve never had the decency to try it though, I always bring something back for you and you screw your face up and throw it out. That’s gratitude for you. I suppose I’m expected to make do with that tinned shit you bring home, well you can stick it up your arse, I require something a bit fresher from time to time.

What am I supposed to do? Cook you a gourmet meal every night?

It wouldn’t hurt, just now and again. You could be a bit more thoughtful.

I’m not Hugh fucking Laurie.


Hugh Laurie, you know, the butler.

What are you talking about?

The butler on that programme. What’s it called? Jeeves and Wooster, that’s it. He’s always one step ahead of the game.

That’s Stephen Fry.

…Stephen Fry then. I’m not your butler.

He’s not a butler.

What? Yes he is. He does the ironing and breakfast and all that. He gets Hugh Laurie out of hilarious scrapes.

Yes, but he’s not a butler. He’s a “Gentleman’s Gentleman”.

What? What the fuck are you talking about?

Give me strength. He’s a valet. A butler works for a household. Jeeves is Wooster’s personal servant.

Shit, I always thought he was a butler.

You fucking moron. Don’t you read books?

Shut up you ginger bastard.

You cretinous stick-man, you stink. Why don’t you have wash?

We don’t all have the luxury of being able to just stop and wash whenever we like.

Once a day would do. You smell like a tramp’s dog. Have some respect for yourself.

I’m not sure I have any left.

Get a fucking grip, man. Do you think you’re the only one who’s had a shit time? There are people out there with fuck all, who struggle every single day of their lives just to survive, people who would give anything to have your life. And look at you, wallowing in self pity. You’re young, you’re intelligent, and you’re alive. What is the problem?

I don’t fucking know.

You can’t carry on like this. Why are you so angry?

I’m sure I had a good reason, but I can’t remember what it was. It was a good reason though.

A good reason? Good enough to destroy yourself and push away everyone you love? A good enough reason to hate yourself? Whatever it is that has made you angry, it is winning. It is winning easily. I suppose crying is a good start, at least it is a genuine emotion that doesn’t break anything.


I have to go now, Martin. Will you be ok?

Will you come back and talk to me again?

You know I won’t.

What happened to you?

I don’t know.

Why did you leave me?

I wasn’t given a choice.

I’m so lonely. Look at the state of me. I don’t know what to do any more.

You have your whole life ahead of you. You must live it. Live it for me. And know that wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, every time you feel joy, and every time you feel sorrow, I will be there watching, and I will be proud of the man you’ve become. Don’t cry for my death, celebrate my life and all that we shared, and remember I live on in you, so you’ll never truly be alone. Can you do that?

I don’t know.

You have to. There are people who depend upon you. They’ll need you to be strong. Life is beautiful, and you are surrounded by people who love you. Just look around you, don’t shy away from them, be yourself, express yourself. You’ll find that they make you stronger. OK?


Good bye Martin.

Good bye, Whiskers.

Dream #2: Spiders on the Storm

Sick Mouse

Sick Mouse

Nearly all of my dreams have spiders in them. They rarely take a prominent role, they’re usually just hanging around in the background, whatever the main theme of the dream. The funny thing is spiders make me jump, I’m not comfortable touching them, especially big ones. But in my dreams they don’t bother me at all. They seem to be just a harmless part of the scenery.

Now, what this is all about, I have no idea. The dream begins with me walking into the house where I grew up. My younger broker is sitting in an armchair with a massive spider curled up in his lap like a cat, and he’s stroking it. It is a huge, black tarantula the size of a medium-sized dog and it has a red pattern on its back. The thing has massive fangs and he cuts his finger on one of them as he strokes it, so I go into the kitchen to get him a plaster.

When I get into the kitchen there is a bowl of cat food on the floor and a cat standing there yawning at me. There is also a bloated, green mouse stumbling around. It is distended, bald and shiny, it looks either drunk or really ill, or both. The first thing I think is that the cat will eat the cat food and the spider will eat the mouse, but then the spider wanders in and eats the cat food. The cat looks a bit bemused but then happily devours the mouse.

Then I woke up with Riders on the Storm by The Doors going round in my head but, instead of singing “Riders on the Storm” Jim Morrison is singing “Spiders on the Storm”.