This post is slightly delayed for Oscar season (my timing has never been my strong point), but I thought I’d share one of the rather bizarre effects of sleep on the human mind. Bare with me, this is vaguely related to the Oscars…
People discussing their dreams is, in general, a pretty dull experience for whomever is too polite to stop listening. I have ridiculously in-depth, insane and prolonged dreams every night, but, luckily for Cécile, find it difficult to explain exactly what happened as my memories quickly evaporate upon opening my eyes. I’m just relieved that I don’t talk in my sleep, apparently I just laugh occasionally. Unfortunately my colleague, C, has for the past few weeks had to put up with a constant flow of chatter emitting from her husband. Surprisingly, she has found that they can actually hold a conversation whilst he is sound asleep. This has resulted in some terrifying, some hilarious and some just very odd interactions. After hearing second-hand several of these fantastic conversations I asked her to provide a highlight:
‘It sounds so weird now I’ve written it down. J certainly has an interesting internal life. He had, what I can only glean from the raucous celebrations, an astounding Grand Prix victory last night. But it was certainly less terrifying than the re-enactment of the denouement of the Wicker Man (Edward Woodward version obviously). But here is the Oscar one. I can only ask myself, why would Moore threaten something like that? I’ve always previously admired her work. I loved her in the Big Lebowski.'
J: WOMAN, WOMAN!
Me: What’s happening?
J: I need you to go into the garden and bury my Oscar.
Me: Your Oscar? I didn’t know you had an Academy Award. What’s it for?
J: Best Face. (I really had no idea this was a category).
Me: Oh really? Why do you need me to bury it?
J (annoyed): Because Julianna Moore wants to paint it green.
Me: Are you positive? I’m sure she wouldn’t do that.
J (plaintively): WHY WON’T YOU HELP ME?
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