I'll sleep on it

A long time ago I made a list of all my sleep-related quirks and habits. I thought my more recent followers might like to see it.

1. I seldom sleep in, I seldom nap.
2. I'm invariably asleep within ten minutes
3. I'm usually up and about by 7 30 am
4. I almost always have bad dreams
5. I sleep on my left side or my right side, hardly ever on my back or front
6. I find it easy to get out of bed in the morning
7. I prefer a nightshirt to pyjamas
8. I sleep naked if it's warm enough
9. I read books in bed but never newspapers
10. My bedside cabinet contains my watch, my alarm clock, my glasses, a box of tissues and a book
11. I find it hard to sleep on planes
12. I slept for 13 hours straight after arriving in Vancouver Island, Canada
13. I never take sleeping pills - they don't work and just make me feel weird
14. There are no teddy bears in our bed
15. Our hotel room in San Francisco had the creakiest bed of all time
16. We slept on a futon for several years
17. We have single duvets, which avoids duvet hogging
18. We have breakfast in bed every Sunday morning - toast and marmalade and a cup of tea
19. We change the bed linen every....so often
20. I can have a completely coherent conversation while I'm asleep, and not remember a word of it the next day
21. My sex life....is none of your business

In your dreams

Dreams are very mysterious. In general they have no obvious meaning or advice for us, yet we get dozens of them every night. What for? Why don't we just sleep soundly with no dreams whatever?

My dreams are mostly anxiety dreams. I'm lost somewhere and trying to find my way home. Or someone sinister is chasing me through an empty building. Or I'm at a dinner party and have no idea who the other people are or what to say to them.

All my dreams tell me is that I'm an anxious person, which I know only too well. Why remind me of the self-evident? Why don't I have dreams telling me how to banish anxiety? Or even dreams that say my brain is right now deleting all my anxieties?

Psychologists have puzzled over the meaning of dreams for centuries and no doubt will keep doing so, and will keep drawing a blank. Many therapists are convinced dreams have plenty of meaning if you just interpret them in the right way, but I haven't found that myself. However I interpret my dreams, whatever I imagine they're telling me in some coded form, I usually end up none the wiser.

I hardly ever dream of people I know. If I did they might suggest something interesting about that person - that they're creepy or crazy or cranky. Even people I worked with for many years, even family members, even famous public figures, never appear. One supposedly common dream is to be meeting the Queen, but I must disappoint Her Majesty on that score.

Another apparently common dream is to find yourself naked in a public place, but I have to say that wherever I happen to be, I'm always fully clothed. Clearly whatever mechanism controls my dreams, it believes in public decency.

But I'm still waiting for a dream where I'm bursting with self-confidence and optimism, and anxiety is a thing of the past.

Crazy dreams

My dreams are very different from other people's. Everyone else seems to dream about real events and real people, while my dreams are totally abstract - bizarre figments of my imagination.

I often dream about an awkward workplace situation, even though I haven't had a paid job for some 16 months. I'm sitting at an office desk with no idea what I'm meant to be doing. Or I'm in a works canteen where everyone is stuffing themselves but I don't know where the food is being served. Or I'm at work trying to read an important report in a language I don't recognise or understand.

Where does this stuff come from? I've never been in any of these situations so my brain seems to go on a solo run as soon as I fall asleep.

I never dream about actual workplaces I've been in, or the people I've worked with. I never dream about the genuinely embarrassing, awkward situations I've encountered.

I dream about Jenny very occasionally and once I dreamt about a Facebook friend, but that's about it. I don't dream about my family, my friends, my neighbours or people I've met during the day. My dreams are nothing but a kind of nocturnal spam.

I've never heard of any other adult whose dreams are so abstract, but surely they must exist? Or does everyone dream about Aunt Gillian upsetting the teapot when she paid a visit yesterday? Or does everyone dream about winning the lottery or meeting their favourite celebrity?

I think I need some urgent adjustments to my dreaming software. It's seriously defective and needs to be replaced by something more normal. I want to dream about Annie Lennox. Or Bonnie Raitt. Or even Aunt Gillian will do.

In my dreams

I can't make head or tail of my dreams. Most of them I instantly forget, but the ones I remember are invariably anxiety dreams - I'm lost and I don't know where I should be; I know where I should be but I don't know how to get there; I've lost my shoulder bag or my suitcase or some other possession; I'm being chased by someone; I'm trapped in a locked room; or I'm supposed to be giving a speech, but I've lost my notes and have no idea what to say.

I hardly ever dream about a real-life, everyday situation. Occasionally I dream of Jenny, or a blogmate, or a Facebook friend, or a former workmate, but only once in a blue moon. Scary imaginings are the norm.

I don't have any of the classic dreams others mention - walking into a social event and realising I'm naked; shaking hands with the Queen; taking a test; floating or flying;  searching for a toilet; or murdering someone.

My dreams have no relation to my daily life. I don't feel lost, I know I'm exactly where I should be. My belongings hardly ever get stolen. Nobody chases me (except when I've left something in a shop). I've never been trapped in a locked room. I've given the odd speech, my notes to hand.

If the dreams are trying to tell me something, I've no idea what. As I say, they're totally disconnected from real life. Maybe they're a hangover from my childhood fears, which my brain has never managed to erase. Or they're scenes from various books I've read, which have stuck in my mind.

But it would be lovely to have some normal, pleasant dreams. Like walking through a wood, listening to birdsong. Or eating a delicious three-course meal. Or being in a Venetian gondola. Or taking a train through the Alps.

Fat chance.

No news yet on the Tate Modern court case. I'll let you know the moment I hear anything.

Bad dreams

I have a problem. It's my dreams. They're not what I expect them to be. They're seriously dysfunctional. They're totally out to lunch.

What I want my dreams to consist of:

1) Glimpses of paradise
2) Sun-kissed oceans
3) Snow-clad mountain peaks
4) Golden beaches
5) Tropical islands
6) Lush rain forests

What they actually consist of:
1) Missing the last bus
2) Losing my way
3) My house collapsing
4) My teeth falling out
5) The car exploding
6) Being chased by a shadowy figure through a derelict building

I've put in an official complaint. This simply isn't good enough. The price I pay for my annual dream package is astronomical, and then I don't even get what I signed up for. I don't even get the requested number of dreams per night. I'm supposed to have a hundred and it's more like half a dozen. And then they're in black and white instead of colour. What do you have to do to get a decent service, eh? I might as well not dream at all.

Now there's an idea....

Living the dream

The allure of the "dream" purchase or the "dream" lifestyle is still very potent. We all like to think that just round the corner is something so perfect, so tailor-made to our personal wishes, that we'll be happy ever after.

Doesn't quite work out like that though, does it? After the first flush of excitement, of starry-eyed euphoria, sooner or later reality takes over and we find that the apparent dream job, dream car, dream partner or dream house has its less than perfect side, those irritating or inconvenient things that come with the package and just have to be accommodated.

But however many dreams fall short of our hopes, we still keep chasing after them, quite certain that next time our desires will be met and everything will fall into place.

I suppose my earliest experience of such disappointment was being a local newspaper journalist. I fondly assumed I would be covering dramatic, life-changing stories, but my actual daily fare was golden weddings, church fetes, excruciating amateur drama and cats stuck up trees.

I thought bookselling might be my dream job until I realised abusive customers, low salaries, penniless "browsers" and talentless books were all part of the deal. But I spent many happy years selling books despite the less glamorous reality.

And does any dream partner ever turn out to be perfect? I doubt it. The fact is that even the most attractive, charming, intelligent, practical individual will eventually display plenty of embarrassing and infuriating weaknesses. You soon realise that you have to love someone for what they are, not what you want them to be.

As for dream houses, I've lived in enough different homes to know they all have their failings, however stunning they seem at first glance. The estate agent's glossy brochures, like fresh paint and plaster, can hide as much as they reveal.

But the idea of a "dream" opportunity still casts its spell over us, despite all our experience and common sense. You can't open a magazine or switch on the telly without seeing blissfully happy people with effortless, silky-smooth lifestyles. Surely we could have that too, it's out there somewhere, we just have to find it. And pigs will fly.

The obsession with Gina

It's easy to get obsessive about the person you love, or even the person you'd like to love but can't have. It's easy to get carried away despite yourself by longing and lust.

Fortunately I've never been obsessed to anti-social extremes. I've never harassed or stalked a woman, or sent unwanted letters or gifts. I've always kept the obsession to myself, and hopefully the women never knew I was so besotted.

But I remember one woman I just couldn't get out of my head - a short, pensive brunette I once worked with*. Everything about Gina mesmerised me - her movements, her speech, her laugh, her hair. I just couldn't ignore her, I was always aware of her, always thinking about her. And of course imagining a sexual relationship.

At least once a week I dreamt of her. Each time it was the same dream. She would be standing in front of a mirror, naked, endlessly brushing her hair, as I dropped ripe strawberries into her mouth. I always woke up as she swallowed the last strawberry.

Needless to say, Gina didn't fancy me in the slightest. To her, I was just another workmate she asked for help or swopped shifts with. She would have been amazed to know how fascinating I found her.

Naturally I would tell myself my obsession was irrational and baseless, that Gina was just an ordinary woman like a hundred others, that I was idealising and airbrushing her, but it made no difference. Still I wanted to drink in every little detail, every little gesture.

The obsession only ended when she left to work somewhere else and I never saw her again. But I've had other obsessions just as intense and unshakeable, for the most unlikely people.

What puzzles me is why one particular person arouses such passion while someone else leaves me indifferent. Is it an unconscious association, is it chemistry, is it some imagined flirtation? I've never got to the bottom of it, and probably never will.

* This was before I met Jenny. But she knows the person I'm referring to!

Photo: For a serious obsession, rose-tinted specs are essential.

Fear of the dark

I'm nervous of the dark. It makes me deeply uneasy. It's not just what it's hiding, it's the brooding, ominous quality it seems to have.

I know only children are supposed to be afraid of the dark, you're meant to grow out of it. But my nyctophobia seems to be increasing as the years go by.

I do my best to ignore it by keeping myself occupied and looking forward to daylight returning, but that unease is always there in the background, trying to insinuate itself into my consciousness.

Even going to sleep doesn't entirely remove it, as I always have disturbing, unsettling dreams I awake from in a state of mild distress and alarm. Dreams in which I'm being chased or I'm hopelessly lost or everything's disintegrating.

Am I completely unhinged, or is this actually quite a common experience? I've no idea. Certainly nobody's ever admitted to me that they share the same anxiety.

But the return of daylight always changes my mood dramatically as soon as it occurs. One minute I'm still deeply ill-at-ease, the next minute a surge of well-being is racing through me. The instant emotional reversal is as regular as clockwork. Who can explain it?

Psychotherapists would suggest I'm projecting some personal fear onto the darkness, or the residue of some unpleasant nighttime experience, but if that's the case I have no memory of anything that might be relevant.

I doubt if there's any cure. All I can do is come to terms with it, like a deranged aunt holed up in the attic. And be thankful it's nothing worse.