Dear Diary - I'm vicious in a dream

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Diary,

 

I just had the strangest dream.

 

Perhaps a feminist dream.  Perhaps an animal activist dream.

 

For some unknown reason, I was part of, or close to (I don't know) an episode of Top Gear.  (Warning: There's a short advertisement at the start of this Youtube video.)

 

If you don't know what Top Gear is, it's a show where three men review new cars.  Unfortunately, over the last few years, it has morphed into them only reviewing aspirational cars, like the Bugatti Veyron.  They also go on challenges all the time, like to buy a car for $400 and compete to drive from New Orleans to Dallas.  They drive and defend their car choice to each other, experience their cars breaking down, etc.  It is, I have to admit it is often funny, but the underlying (perhaps subconscious?) sexism drives (no pun intended) me insane.

  

As an uncessary sideline, there has recently been an attempt to create the same show in the US.  We watched a few episodes and, I am sorry to say, it's totally shit. 

  

Anyway, back to the dream.

 

Jeremy Clarkson (key sexist prick of the three presenters), was test driving some sort of sportscar.  It looked like the Ferrari which Magnum used to drive, but it was red, and they were reviewing it because it was new i.e. not the model Magum drove 20 years ago.

 

We were somewhere in a place that looked like the French countryside, with farms and houses dotting the surrounding hills.  There were winding roads, which is why this place were chosen to test the car and showcase it's stuff.

 

Jeremy Clarkson was describing the car to the cameras, explaining that is was a true sportscar with no frills, not even a radio or CD player.

 

Then he went off on his test drive, careeing through the countryside.  For some illogical reason, I was able to see him, although I don't remember being with the camera crew.  In fact, I don't even remember the camera crew following him.  

 

Then he stopped at a farm fence.  On the other side of it stood a beautiful jet black horse.  Jeremy drew out a gun and shot it.  I was utterly horrified.  And then the black horse was lying over the left side of the car hood, with Jeremy explaining that the weight of the horse was going to help demonstrate the car's handling.  And off he went again, at high speed.

 

Then I was back at the starting point of the whole thing.  Jeremy pulled the car in, and they rolled the horse off the car.  It stumbled, but it was awake again.  That's when I first realized it had been a traquilizer gun.  But, still, I was utterly furious.  

 

Jeremy was making his wrap up statements to the camera, expressing how much he loved the car.

 

Next to me, I saw a metal rod, about the length of the floor to my hips.  It had a twisted design on it, as if two pieces of metal had been wound together to create the rod.

 

And that's when I had a plan.

 

I jumped into the car and took off.  I had decided I would get my revenge on the pompous arse and the camera crew and producers who had allowed the horse to be used in that terrible way.  My plan was to drive to some high point, use the rod to wedge down the accelerator, jump out of the car, and get it to go over a cliff, to be crushed as it landed.  

 

I knew that the manufacturers of the cars reviewed on Top Gear loaned them to the show, and that those producers would be in a world of hurt after I destroyed something really expensive which they did not own.

 

But, as I drove through the countryside, I could see that the surrounding hills of the valley weren't that high, and I was concered that there wouldn't be a cliff high up enough to allow the car to be damaged beyond all recognition.

 

I was looking around frantically, trying to find a high enough hill.

 

I drove up the steepest road and, close to the top, found a farm.  Maybe, maybe it was high enough from the valley floor below.  I drove into the driveway and parked.  Getting out of the car to check out the land.

  

No dice.  It didn't have what I needed.

  

I got back in the car and drove further up the road.  These were all dirt roads, by the way.  

 

A driveway to the left, but closed by a gate.

 

I got to another flat place where I could stop, and parked the car.  I started to climb up to a higher part of the road (I have no idea why I didn't drive up there).

 

A cliff!  I flat place large enough to back up the car, start it heading directly towards the cliff and enough space to dive out of it in time!

 

I headed back down to where I'd parked. 

 

The car was gone.

 

Shit!  Buggery buggery fuck arse wanker bollocks!

 

I was really mad at myself for not driving up to the higher flat point.  Why had I walked up?

 

Perhaps I just couldn't remember where I parked the car.  I ran down to the first house where I'd parked.  

 

The car wasn't there.

 

How had they found it?

 

Fuck!.  It must have some kind of GPS Theft Recovery System.

 

For some reason I kept believing I just couldn't remember where I'd parked, and kept walking around, trying to find the car.

 

And that's when I woke up.

 

Why do all my dreams end with me frantically trying to solve some kind of problem?

 

I have no idea.

 

Maybe I need a shrink.

 

 

 

 

 

To read more in the Dear Diary series, click the Tag below or the Category link on the left.

 

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