I was in the middle of a long chat with Elton John, the singer and songwriter. We were both smartly dressed, and possibly at an exhibition, or very civilised party. He was holding a glass of mineral water with a slice of lemon in it. I could clearly see the sparkling effervescence inside the glass. I was leaning against a column, explaining to him why he was never as good in his later career, as he was on his first ever record release. I was trying not to look at his strange false hair, to pretend that I hadn’t noticed the outlandish wig. Then I woke up.
What is it about dreams?
I don’t care that much for Elton John. I have nothing against him specifically, but rarely think about him. I do actually consider his first album to be his best, but other than that, this dream has nothing to explain it. I have never met Elton John, and I am highly unlikely ever to do so. And I am sure that if I ever did meet him, I would not be so impolite as to criticise his body of work. So why that dream? And why last night in particular?
It is claimed that we do not remember most of our dreams, and that those that are the most vivid, and the easiest to recall, occur just before waking. I can accept these claims, as I have no way of refuting them. But I do remember a lot of dreams, sometimes in minute detail. Most are easy to explain of course. Remembering my Mum, recollecting events from past jobs, marriages, even accidents. I have written a post about these before, and how I am often driving, and usually lost. But some defy all explanation, involving fantastic, impossible situations. Meeting people who are long dead, spending what seems like weeks, traversing a forbidding continent. Perhaps piloting aircraft, riding a fast horse, or swimming in stormy seas with whales. All of these have featured in my dreams.
And chatting to a 68 year old pop music legend from Pinner.