I still have around 200 pages to go in Blood & Rage by Michael Burleigh, a book that is both annoying and interesting, so I will postpone the review for a few days. I plan to treat The Mighty and the Almighty by Madeleine Albright (really good) and The American Presidents ed. James M McPherson in the same entry.
So today a few random personal things.
Of late I have had some odd dreams, which I usually don’t remember. The dreaming is no doubt a side-issue from the anti-depressives. Last night’s – or rather early this morning’s – I did retain for a while after waking. It appears I had bought a new car, some kind of olive green or khaki in colour – yes I dream in colour and Dolby! – of a type I didn’t identify, something like a VW Passat. The setting for this dream was somewhat fluid. It started, I think, in Wollongong but ended on the St George side of Tom Ugly’s Bridge – the border of The Shire. I had a not too serious car accident, caused by avoiding another accident in which a pedestrian was injured by another car. I parked my car – by the way I don’t have one – on one side of the Princes Highway and joined those helping the accident victim, even though (a detail added later in the dream) my car had been rear-ended with little damage. (This did actually happen to a Subaru I had in the 1970s, which was rear-ended in the Blue Mountains by a woman driving an automatic who sneezed when we were stopped at traffic lights, thus taking her foot off the brake pedal. She was, she said, on her way to a Tupperware party. Funny the things you remember.) Anyway, for some reason The Empress was there. (The Empress is an Oxford Street acquaintance.) Well, while I was at the scene of the pedestrian accident – it was raining by the way – someone removed a wheel from my car. The Empress and I must have coped with this, for the next thing he and I were driving to the dealership where I had bought the car – shiny and new but now a bit dented in the rear – I think to have it put in for service or repairs. Now I don’t know how he did it, but The Empress seems to have gone home somewhere about now, and I found myself at the car dealers – it was a Sunday – where there was a fancy dress party in progress. The person who had sold me the car was tall dark and handsome – a man that is – and wearing a pink dress. Why, I hear you ask? Don’t ask me; I just have the dreams, I don’t write the scripts!
I woke up after a mobile phone conversation with a very drunk Empress. That conversation was in fact a rerun of one that occurred at M’s place some years back.
And then, as I said and as the cliche goes, I woke up and it had all been a dream!
Psychoanalyse me then! I dare you!
A bit late to report this, but Sirdan and I went to the Indonesian/Malaysian place I had tested out the previous Sunday. The service was just as friendly and the Balinese chicken was excellent. (Ours had peanuts instead of cashews.) Then we got daring and ordered an Indonesian fruit salad, despite the warning we were given that it was “spicy”. What we didn’t expect was that it is, well, pickled. Wikipedia says “It is widely known that the sweet, spicy and sour tastes of rujak are adored by pregnant women. The recipe of rujak for this ceremony is similar to typical Indonesian fruit rujak, with the exceptions that the fruits are roughly shredded instead of thinly sliced, and that pomelo/pink grapefruit is an essential ingredient. It is believed that if the rujak overall tastes sweet, the unborn would be a girl, and if it is spicy, the unborn baby is a boy.” We didn’t know any of that. We did decide it was an acquired taste though, and next time we will be less daring! I suspect M would have loved it, but then he likes stinking bean curd and Korean kimchi as well…