Zzz

(All the writing in this set was based on dreams. For more info,
please read: 'An Explanation - 25 Dreams.')

I am sinking.
I have the most horrible sensation
That I am dying,
That I am slipping away from the world.
I don't know where I am going.
D r o w n i n g
I claw myself back up,
Grasping onto wakefulness
Like it's a piece of driftwood.
Gasping, I turn over in bed
And then I sink
Comfortably
Into a

Jack Dee is on stage in a small bar. For a while, I am him, telling the
audience how I psyche myself up for these events by cleaning the
toilets before I come on. Then I am watching, from the edge of the
crowd.

For a while I can hear an auto cue that feeds him the punch lines and
ruins the timing of his gags.

There is a tall girl in the middle of the crowd at the front who is
constantly talking to Jack, her voice raised so that everyone can hear.
Whenever Jack says something she is replying:

"Really? Did you? Do you? Oh, right. Okay."

She is fucking annoying.

Everyone is fucking annoying.

It is as though Jack is on auto-pilot, ignoring the crowd, and the
crowd is not taking in his routine, two separate creatures in the same
dark room.

Then a girl dives onto the stage, a slim girl with long, blonde hair.
She is about 16, timid-looking, and wears a white blouse and black
skirt. It is uncertain whether she is part of the act or not, but she
starts doing gags while Jack Dee steps back and allows her to take
centre stage.

Three minutes later, when she is done, the crowd goes wild and Jack Dee
gestures towards her, to make sure our applause goes to the right
place.

She dives off the stage suddenly, over a row of plastic chairs and into
the crowd. She is caught by many hands and set down. There is a whoop
and more applause.

Then ...

... a body comes flying from the back of the crowd and hits the ground,
parting the gathering. It is a woman, perhaps in her mid-thirties, and
she is in pain. A circle forms around her and I go to her to offer her
my hand. She asks if she can hold my hand and I assent, knowing I am
about to have my hand crushed.

She is on the ground on all fours, except for the hand that I am
holding, and spasms of pain take hold of her body. It seems to me that
maybe she has eaten or taken something. Most likely, the latter.

In fact, I know this. Instinctively.

My friend, Rahim, however, thinks differently. Here, he is a trainee
doctor, and he puts his hand to the woman's throat as soon as she
releases my hand. He announces that she is still breathing and asks
someone to call a doctor.

Yeah. Great work.

He then says that she is having a baby, but that this is the most
unusual and dangerous type of birth. He tells the manager of the club
to go and get a condom and a pregnancy test kit.

Next, he asks for a glass of water, which he drinks in about four,
laboured gulps, and sets the empty glass down beside the woman's head
as she lies on the floor.

I telephone the woman's husband on her mobile. He seems unperturbed, as
though this is a usual occurrence. He tells me that they have been
'shut-ins' and that they simply needed to get out and walk and get
exercise. He tells me that he has been indoors a lot, because he has
been studying to keep the letters after his name ...

... he has a lot of letters after his name, perhaps a dozen, in
different combinations. He has to keep studying and taking tests each
year, otherwise he will lose his qualifications. He just wants to keep
his letters for one more year, so he can get a job as a teacher.

I say it is worthwhile.

I am walking to the local shop in a darkening evening - on the way home
it will be completely black - and I am thinking of Bart Simpson, how he
is a suspect for anything that goes wrong. This is how I feel.

Cars rush past me on the road, straining to keep to the tarmac.

Fortunately, I do not meet anyone on the streets, but when I get to the
shop a friend of mine who I have never met before is buying a few
things.

I want chocolate; I go round the little store, picking things off
shelves and bundling them into my arms, just as my friend is
doing.

There are all different types and shapes of Milkybar and I am wondering
which one to get. I see four-packs of Milkybar Custard Creams, packed
together in what is called a special 'hospital pack'. I see what looks
like a toothpaste tube which says that it contains three different
types of chocolate and includes frosting. I am about to buy it when the
shop keeper tells me it really is toothpaste.

"With frosting?" I ask. "With added sugar?"

He nods.

I put it back.

Eventually, I am carrying haddock, lettuce, Milkybars, milk and ... my
dirty frying pan ... from home ... I put all of these on the counter
and as I do so the shopkeeper says, friendly and diplomatically:

"It's time now that you pick up things that you are going to
buy".

The store is about to close.

My friend says: "come on," and makes as if to wait, but then he just
stumbles out of the door, without a goodbye.

"That's what people are like now," the store keeper says.

I just say 'hmm' and then I tell him: "two more things," holding up the
right amount of fingers; "I know exactly what I want."

I open up a fridge, which is just like my squat, American fridge in
Birmingham, and stare at the products.

It is just like a household fridge.

I don't know what I want at all, I simply know that I have to buy two
more things before I leave.