In this house it is common practice to review our dreams sometimes stretching back many years. That is a part of the idea of keeping a dream lab book.

At the moment I am looking to see if my dreams reveal any residual devoirs for this life and what my residual fate might be. We are faced with a need to downsize to a place with a much smaller garden and a smaller house. The question is currently framed as blighty or France. The need is not urgent but it is sooner rather than later.

This morning’s dream when published referred to my Boscombe Down dream earlier thanks to WordPress. This is near Stonehenge. At the end of my Ph.D. I was pretty close to getting a job offer at Porton Down which is not too far away. The West Country is an area where it is possible for us to perhaps afford a small house. I once fancied living at Avebury inside the stone circle. This morning’s dream is not too radically far away from an actual possibility. Were we to move to a small village I would be more country and less townie. We could go along the 303 and see what is possible. I could end up involved in local activities.

Over the years and before we moved here the wife had numerous dreams which with hindsight could have been predictive of the house we live in and the county too! The fit concerning the floor to ceiling windows is with hindsight, good. As is the stream etc.

One of the major factors for me to move here was get away from all the dogmatic, ignorant and never ending adamant gobshite about Brexit. How Brexit would supercharge the UK economy and solve everything including immigration in one fell swoop. The soap-box preaching has not yet yielded an English country garden utopia, the envy of the world. This mental attitude, this xenophobic jingoism, bullshitting, is a major factor which is putting me off.

Is Britain still full of wankers and adamant gobshites?

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I don’t know…

People can think of themselves in different ways to how others consider them. They may imagine that they are wonderful, shit hot and the dogs’ bollocks; others may deem them to be a wanker, a bell end.

For example people might ask me why I am not working or collaborating with a specific person or group, expecting some long explanation. I might reply that they are a wanker, or they plural are a bunch of wankers.

In general I give people the benefit of the doubt for too long. Then  when the last straw arrives, they are assigned mentally to my wanker pile, this assignment is generally irrevocable. Once on the wanker pile, I am extremely unlikely to want anything whatsoever to do with them. The grief level is just way too high for any tiny positive benefit. In my mind no further explanation is needed. The matter is closed and I do not have to justify myself; they are on the wanker pile and that is that. People might try to persuade me otherwise; it is very unlikely to work.

I try to learn from experience and not repeat it.

You might imagine me a rigid judgemental person. But in order to end up on the wanker pile a person needs to have provided plenty of evidence. Their behaviour has been instrumental.

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The dream this morning is not a warning against the UK. It is a reminder of village politics and that there are some people who deem themselves big cheeses. The phrase pompous arse sprung to mind when writing up the dream.

So I’ll try to keep an open mind until after our exploratory visit to the UK later in the year. Maybe some people have changed their tune and have seen that the UK shot itself in the foot because it did not like imaginary rules about straight bananas demanded by Brussels. Maybe it would prefer orange chlorinated antibiotic laden chicken from Trump-land?

You never know what is really going on in the minds of others. Maybe a little humility has found its way into the Rule Brittania 1966 and all that “thinking”.

Britain might have an inkling that it is now becoming past not present or future…

The days of the shire are numbered…