Here is this morning’s dream. Where this came from I do not know.
The dream opens in a small plush bank very near South Kensington tube station. It is a private bank and the sense is it is for the well and ultra-well heeled. It has a distinctly Russian flavour and a faint whiff of oligarch. I am talking with a cash teller about some different kinds of account. She is slick and very professional. Her English is crisp-perfect and she is immaculate. I feel at home and safe. As usual the posh circumstance does not faze me. She gives me some literature to look at. As I go to leave a man in his thirties who works at the bank starts to engage me in conversation. He looks physically fit and his stance is “fighting” balanced. He continues to probe about me and my business.
I ask him , “KGB?”
He pauses to think and then says, “Yes, well not quite, something similar, more modern.” As he says this he allows a faint Russian accent to show. We smile in good spirits and I leave the bank.
I know that I will recognise him if I ever see him again.
I return some time later with a tall woman with dark hair. She is expensively dressed and partially eastern European. We go into the bank and I help arrange various financial currency instruments to be cashed, if needed, in global locations when she is on her travels. There is a sense that sanctions against Russia have made this more tricky. We leave the bank and are followed by thick set big man well over six feet. He has a very expensive lather jacket and close cropped blond hair. He has a ruddy face and I know that he is fond of a good piss up.
We head off down towards the tube station. He is behind us. As we are going down the stairs we are met by another Russian coming up the stairs. He stands in front of the woman and sort of ushers her back upstairs like a sheep. I draw a telescopic police baton and open it. The man on the stairs pauses. She looks at me and by gesture says for me to desist. These men are known to her. They work for her “father”. We all go upstairs to a large car / limousine waiting on the road. She is ushered in to the back seat. I go to join her but the leather jacket man says no. I am not to worry they and she will be in contact with me soon. All sense of tension has evaporated.
I head off to the tube station collapsing the telescopic baton as I do. As I go down the steps into the station I make a note in the dream to avoid London like the plague and to stay well away from South Kensington in particular.
The dream ends.
As I come to I am reminded of when I walked into a commercial posh bank in Kensington ~25 years ago. I was dressed as per usual in black Levis’ and a polo shirt. I said that I wanted to open an account. They were pretty sceptical. I said that we had just raised £5 million start-up funds. They ushered me into a posh office for a coffee and metaphorical BJ. In an instant their tone had changed.
On waking I have an intuition that should anyone intervene personally with me it is most likely to be the Russians.
Dreamyoga 