Last night, I had a far superior sleep and even woke up refreshed. Praise be. But my dream stayed with me as I got out of bed and I wanted to share it as it was just so bizarre.
I was on a beach (naturally), walking by the water and working on my tan. As I do when in Sitges, I was walking up and down the same stretch of beach, listening to music on my AirPods.
The beach was familiar, but not exactly the same as any beach I’ve been on before. All I had on me were my AirPods and a lanyard around my neck with some kind of ID card on it. In dreams, it seems you don’t need an iPhone or similar to be the source of your music…
I could feel the sun on my skin, the sand under my feet and the feel of complete and utter relaxation that only a sunny beach can bring.
Suddenly, TheFrankFlyer ran up to me and said we needed to go quickly or we’d miss our flight. I panicked and pointed out I needed to head back to gather my stuff, go back to the hotel, shower, get dressed and finish packing. In a way that the real Frank never would, he said he’d asked the hotel staff to pack up our things and send them to the airport. A new service!
All we had to do was get a taxi, but it had to be in the next five minutes or we wouldn’t get there in time. WTF?
Panic set in. I couldn’t find my iPhone, I couldn’t remember which airport we were flying from and all I had on my body was a lanyard. No flip-flops and no clothes. I argued that he needed to wait until I went back to the lounger and pulled on some shorts or something and he produced a small bag and said he’d gathered it up and we just had to start walking through the dunes to get to the road.
Dunes? I can’t remember the last time I had to walk through sand dunes to get anywhere!
I followed him like the compliant man I am and we struggled through the deep sand. The sand became so hot that it was uncomfortable to walk on. I kept asking if I could have my bag so I could pull on my shorts, but – you’ve guessed it – his constant reply was “There’s no time”. All sense of relaxation had left me and I was now in survival mode.
Cutting a long story short, he made me get into a waiting taxi – still naked, confused and stressed – and I asked for the bag of my belongings that he had been carrying.
(I can vividly remember the really uncomfortable sensation of the sand on my backside rubbing against the pleather seats in the back of the taxi.)
He looked at me with his own panicked expression and said that he’d lost it in the dunes, but not to worry, he’d pick me up some new clothes at the airport. It was a new, smaller airport and me walking in desnudo wouldn’t be a problem. He could dash to a shop and get me something.
He was so certain that the lanyard around my neck would be all the ID I’d need to navigate the airport and, when I examined it more closely, the card it held was just a Marks and Spencer loyalty card. It didn’t even have my name on it.
He was doing his best to be optimistic, but I had a meltdown.
I remember my mouth opening and closing like a fish, protesting that I just needed to get out of the taxi now and head back to the beach. Where at least I would fit in, rather than get arrested by the police at the airport. He kept telling me to calm down and not make a big deal out of it. He tried to assure me that the Spanish police were really chilled out about public nudity.
He then barked something in Spanish at the driver and we took off like a rocket. The inside of the taxi was so hot and uncomfortable. No AC and the pleather was burning my back and legs. I began to feel nauseous.
The last thing I remember is the taxi screeching onto an on-ramp and tearing down some anonymous motorway, taking me to my certain arrest and public humiliation.
Here’s hoping for something more relaxing while I sleep this evening. Or no dreams at all, preferably.