Money – Dreamyoga

Here is this morning’s dream. As I was typing the title I looked at the date in the bottom right hand corner of my screen and noted a numerological internal consistency.

The dream starts at some kind of motorway service station in the UK. It is like an old style Tebay but now there is a pub attached. I have parked my car which looks like an old-school 911. It looks beat up but can go fast. {Think Big Chill}. I have with me only my day sack. I have lost weight and am moving freely. I am travelling light and fluid.

I go into the services bar and there I meet A6. He is sat drinking a tall beer with two friends roughly the same age as him. I say hi and join them at a high bar table with stools. They are joshing about. A6 is planning a party back in London, to which he invites me even though we are hundreds of miles away. He asks if I can lend him a few thousand pounds, five or six. I think this odd because I know that he is now loaded and has been on a good salary in America. His mates now have comedy false noses on and are taking selfies. A6 gives me a large modern looking clock-watch which he says that I can have as collateral for the loan. He says that it is his father’s watch and that it means a lot to him. I am unsure as to if he is taking the piss in a Pulp Fiction sense. He and his mates get up and leave. I say that I will get back to him.

On a table nearby is the ex-wife. I am surprised to see her and not overly pleased. I go over to see what it is that she wants and is after. I explain that A6 is after some money. She says that I should not give it to him. This is because she wants it. In the dream I am mightily surprised that anyone could imagine that I have any money, money to spare. She is pressing that she should benefit from the money. I find the situation cloying and leave.

I go back to my car and drive off. I am heading towards London. I getting a little tired. So I pull into a service station just outside the M25. I queue up and get a coffee waiting in line at an old-style cafeteria. With my coffee in a paper cup I go outside onto a pub garden lawn. There is a pub style table there and a fairly glamorous woman is sat there smoking. I ask if I may join her. She says yes. I note that unusually she is smoking using a cigarette holder, femme fatale. We have a brief chat and she suggests to me that all may not be as it seems. This concurs with my gut feel. I spark up a cigarette and drink my coffee.

I get back in my car and drive further into another service station with a pub attached. I go inside and sit at a table for coffee. I am joined by a tall Asian man in a suit. He looks city finance. I show him the watch and explain that someone I know is asking for a loan imagining that I have come into money. He says that the watch may be worth something but that is about time and not money. He suggests that I have a look at my ‘phone to see if there are any messages from A6.

I boot up my ‘phone which I almost never use. Up pops a quasi-secret group chat which unencrypts so that I can read it. I have accidentally been included. It is an application which I am unfamiliar with. The screen fills with message after message to and fro, in a bright green small font. Encapsualted within the text are brief video snippets and images. I am the subject of the group chat and its contents are all about me. I remember when I last interacted with A6 it occurred to me that given the modus of people I was once acquainted with that these interactions were being more widely reported. Indeed A6 may even have been put up to it, encouraged. I know that this is a part of a much wider information gather and I am not pleased even though I know it typical. I think that they are fucking things up. There is nothing I can do about it. I know in the dream that it is a very bad idea for them to do this.

I am to carry on my journey. I need to go to the bathroom. In the back of the pub there are three toilets whose signage I do not understand. I eventually work out that there are one female, one male and one tranny. I go for a piss and while I am at the urinal one of the pub staff comes in. I say that the loos need a clean. He is offended and rude to me.

I know that I left the last place early. I go back to my car. I check the day sack in the boot. In the back pocket I find my caduceus and the keys to my old house in New Mills #30. Even though I no longer own the house I still have keys to it and can go back to unlock it at any time. I know that together with yesterday’s dream there is a reminder that things are not always as they seem. I note the jewel of awareness and that this could be the card in play.

The dream ends.

As I am typing this the Ian Dury song “Clever Trevor” springs to mind. And I think here we go again…

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.

Tag: Money

South Kensington Bank – KGB – Dream 08-10-2025