I'm only telling this 'cos a) it involved people from Fab and b) it's an odd one but...
First Act.
Picture the scene: It's Nazi occupied Paris, 1942 or 43. The dream was in colour, but only just. Everything was washed out, smokey and misty, lit by low electric lights, candles and sodium lamps. Like a noir film.
I'm just about to enter a rather raucous speak-easy where I'm already in trouble with the management. For extra shock-value, I've procured an SS officer's uniform from the black market and walk in, causing a hush through the establishment.
Quickly, Brighton Steve recognises me and we all have a laugh and the party continues.
I am told by Dirty Girl (who running the place on behalf of the owners) that if I get d*unk or anything else beyond a certain physical point in the house, I will be banned.
So I'm up in the bordello - (which is run by another Fabstress) and we're sharing a bottle of wine and a joint and giggling about Dirty Girl who's keeping an eagle-eye out over the action - when another man runs in to the place and shouts that a real detachment of SS are coming.
There's chaos and I decide to leave immediately, as this would not be a good place to be discovered as a pretend SS officer. I don't say goodbye to anyone, just leave.
And as I round the back of the building maybe a dozen SS accompanying Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring in his trademark blue voluminous suit sweep past me on the road. They see me and Nazi salute. I return a rather sloppy two fingered salute (as I sometimes do) off the top of my black trilby. and then hotfoot it, thinking THAT was close.
Second act.
So I then go to where I'm staying to ditch the uniform. This is the only part of the dream that's hazy.
There was some kind of problem where I was staying - it was a tip and had been invaded by strangers who were camping in my room. I went and found the people I was staying with and told them that there are SS looking around tonight so they'd better be careful.
I'd just taken off and hidden the jacket, shirt and tie and was standing there bare-chested, when AGAIN Göring and his entourage enter and demand to see everyone's papers.
When I look at the Reichsmarschall , he's the one part of this dream that isn't quite real - it's not the 'real' Göring but some kind of TV actor who looks a bit like him but clearly isn't. However, the sense of fear was real enough.
Göring says that I look familiar. I manage to blag my way out of it - or at least Göring mistakes me for an invalided soldier from the Afrika Corps. He has a go at us for smoking and leaves.
Again I think, that was close!
Act three.
So I dress, and I figure I can't stay there so I go to the apartment of an old shag of mine the impeccably posh Zhenya - a woman so well brought up that she doesn't say 'fry up' she says 'frr'uup' anyway - so we're lounging on her bed, surrounded by red velvet drapes and her entourage and I'm telling her about the close shaves I've had this evening when AGAIN Göring and the SS guys enter the room.
This time I'm able to laugh it off - "Herr Göring, I'm starting to think you're following me!"
Only one of Zhenya's friends has left a bag of drugs on the table. I gesture to one of the friends (a rather crusty looking fellow I don;t know) and he knocks the stash on to the floor where I quickly kick it under a table.
An SS officer starts to question the crusty but I interject and whisper in the woman's ear that he's a 'nephew of mine, he's a bit simple and has been sent to me to look after'. The SS officer believes me and the incident is overlooked.
They go through everyone's papers, make everyone turn out their pockets (except for me - I'm somehow now 'trusted') and then leave, much to everyone's relief.
At this point I think, I'm knackered, and I go to sleep on the end of Zhenya's bed...
And then I wake up in real life, with a full bladder.
The clock is showing 4:15am... |
Well I sound like a total fucking party pooper! 
I shut the door so she can't get in but she was snuggled up beside me at the time. It was just really odd. Not scary, just strange. 
