I awoke this morning from a very strange dream. Rather than the usual fare of twitchy cat-and-mouse chases, this dream was quite different. This is what I recall:
I was walking around our lovely country of Northumbria with my old pal Leo, who to my surprise was no longer confined to his caged enclosure. Leo told me that he was hungry, so he wanted to go for a snack. So we came to a large, plain daub-and-wattle building and wandered inside. There were hundreds of people there - including Clegge - the Deputy Supreme Allied Commander In Chief of the Tree/Liberationist Alliance Witangemot. We'd evidently wandered into their headquarters. "Yummy - breakfast!" was Leo's delighted exclamation. He tucked into a nearby Liberationist politician, enjoying every bite.
In my dream we then wandered down the road until we came to another large daub-and-wattle building; this edifice was bigger and grander than the previous one, as it had been built by prosperous merchants. This one was certainly the headquarters of the Trees Faction; I recognised Caedmeron - the Supreme Allied Commander In Chief of the Tree/Liberationist Alliance Witangemot - among the hordes within. "Goody - lunchtime!" was Leo's cheery cry. He helped himself to a rotund Tree politician, savouring every morsel with a relish not normally associated with large cats.
After Leo's repast we walked further, and after some time arrived at the Command and Control Centre of the fly-agaric-led Redistributionist Faction. I recognised the building immediately; it was a magnificent palace, since it had been built at public expense. "Wonderful! Teatime!" was the delighted response. So we wandered inside, and Leo helped himself to a Redistributionist politician. He ate enthusiastically and quickly, and after his tea we then left to resume our journey. It soon became apparent that Leo's digestive tract was suffering; the gurgling and the flatulence following his last meal was intense. He had been eating bad meat - I wasn't at all surprised. That's why I'm more fastidious than he is...
As daylight faded we approached a modest dwelling. "Supper, Leo?" - I tentatively suggested. "Let's see what's on the menu," was Leo's reply. We looked through the doorway. Inside the house was a number of people, shouting at - or knocking seven bells out of - each other. It was a veritable battlefield. "What d'you think, Leo?" I asked him. "Nahhh," he said. "They're Libertarians; if they can't agree among themselves, they certainly won't agree with me."
And thus the dream ended. I wonder what it all means?
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