Nicktor of my dreams

We had planned to go into Stockholm today. We’d organised Fifi to take the girls and were looking forward to celebrating our 25th anniversary of arriving in Europe as well as visiting a museum. Then, last night, Freya became unwell. The first (and biggest) sign was her refusal to eat cheese. Freya loves cheese almost as much as me, so this was a clear indication that she wasn’t well. Therefore, we thought it would be better to change our plans.

Mind you, I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night due to a rather odd dream.

Mirinda and I were walking down a street with Nicktor. I don’t know where it was but, for some reason, in my dream, I thought it was Sydney. I didn’t recognise it as anywhere I know in Sydney; it was a dreaming location.

We entered a building which was made up of lots of different rooms, each selling different liquid refreshments. There were also places to sit. It was similar to the ruin bar we went to in Budapest.

Nicktor said he’d go and get drinks and left us. He came back with two cans. One was lager for him, the other a soft drink for Mirinda. There are a number of things wrong with this. Firstly, Mirinda would never drink a can of soft drink, Nicktor would not drink lager but, most obviously, Nicktor would never not buy me a beer.

I said I was going to get myself a drink and left. However, no matter how many of the little rooms I visited, there was no beer. And, eventually, I found myself back out on the street. For some strange reason that I call dream logic, I wasn’t able to get back in, so I went around the block, looking for the entrance we originally used.

Of course, the ‘block’ was miles and miles. By the time I reached the entrance of the ‘bar’, it was closed. There were two women in the doorway, packing up a few last things. I was told the place was closed, and I couldn’t go in. I explained that my wife was inside and could they check. One of the women said she’d ring her boss and ask.

While the woman was checking, I looked at my phone to see if I’d had any messages from Mirinda (or Nicktor, I suppose) but there were none. I put my phone away, then realized that I really wanted to go to the toilet. Then I woke up, realizing that I really needed to go to the toilet.

My dreams are almost always incredibly real, however, I don’t normally remember them with any clarity. This was one of those rare ones. But, I can’t figure out what it means. Mirinda claims it’s because I feel Nicktor has dumped me for someone I dislike. (I saw an Instagram post with this person and a post box.) I don’t see it but, even so, that’s no excuse for not buying me a beer.

Anyway, having walked for miles around the block and being confused about the Nicktor situation, I dragged myself, bleary-eyed and exhausted, out of bed.

Eventually, I went shopping while Mirinda looked after Freya who improved throughout the day and, by dinner time, was back to having a piece of cheese. As well as normal dog food.

By the end of the day, all was back to normal with Mirinda, Emma and Freya, all reclining on the leather lounge. Mirinda asked me why, when we were both home. I explained it was because I was standing up in the kitchen, and, as usual, they were chasing the comfort.