This hotel had it all: a whimsical tearoom calamity, truly ingenious canapés, low-yield nukes, and an unnerving descent into the earth…
I: The tearoom
My journalistic impulse is nagging at me. I’m acutely aware that I need to come up with a story, or a hook at least. I have to record something, to capture a moment from this dream, to have some fragment to write about.
I’m in a hotel, visiting the tearooms. They’re outfitted with vintage furnishings and there are brass trimmings all around.
I’m observing the young waitresses talking to one another as they go about their business.
Their outfits are bizarre. They consist of the practical black ‘Nippy’ uniform, undermined by fussy embellishments. Each waitress has four long white bows that are fastened at the shoulders and the hips, and their blouses feature impractical bell sleeves that flare from the elbows.
The waitress loses her balance and topples backwards
Then, it happens.
Out of nowhere, close to one of the condiment stations, one of the waitresses loses her balance. From a standing position, she simply topples backward onto her derrière. Luckily she isn’t holding anything, so there’s no spillage or commotion.
The waitress sits there for a second under the warm lights, smiling, eyes wide, and then laughs generously. It’s charming, like when Naomi Campbell fell over on the catwalk in 1993. Because she’s young, pretty and healthy, her moment of clumsiness is nothing more than an enchanting surprise.
This is my opportunity, I realise! This is the promising story beat, the most valuable nugget that I’ll be able to mine from this dream. Finally, I have some content.
I immediately make a mental note of the moment. I produce a pad and pencil and start to sketch the waitress in her rough seated position on the floor, quickly coming up with a solid likeness.
The waitress’s smiling colleague helps her to her feet and they go back to work.
Surreptitiously, I approach the area where she was sitting, so that I can sketch the background more accurately.
When I get closer, I notice a waist-high stretch of wood panelling along the wall, topped by a series of empty vases arranged at regularly spaced intervals.
I’m confused about whether this is an accurate background for the picture or not, and whether it should be included in my final piece.
II: The training event
Elsewhere in the hotel, a few floors up, I attend a work conference-cum-training event.
There are two types of circular canape on offer – both vegetarian, I’m relieved to discover. It’s quite innovative: you can eat the two types of canape on their own, or combine them into a little sandwich.
I meet some old work colleagues, pretend to be happy to see them, and discover that I’ve accepted a reasonably prestigious but unwanted job with an industry association, something I cannot remember doing.
III: The nuclear scare
The event concludes and, after we all disperse, I find myself in the hotel atrium. I notice the glowing light cascading through a series of tall, narrow windows that wouldn’t be out of place in a modern church.
Suddenly, I spot a dark cloud outside, billowing rapidly from right to left. It blots out the natural light and envelopes the building as rapidly as an encroaching sandstorm.
It’s like someone has emptied a gigantic hoover bag outside: a choking black and grey fog of dust and detritus. Over the noise of conversation around me, I hear a distant seismic vibration.
Convinced that something very, very bad has happened, I produce my phone from my pocket, open the browser and go to the BBC News site.
Two low-yield nuclear warheads have been detonated
I read the breaking news story that dominates the page: the USA has detonated two low-yield nuclear warheads in the atmosphere.
Catastrophes like this are a recurring motif in my dreams: witnessing the first horrifying flashes of a nuclear war, or the unfolding terror of some 9/11-style atrocity.
But not this time.
As I read on, I realise that actually, everything is okay. The report explains that the US Government did this to disperse some toxic yellow substrate that was already in the atmosphere.
So it seems like it’s not World War Three after all. These explosions have the same kind of status as one of those tests on Bikini Atoll in the 1950s.
Despite what the presence of the toxic cloud outside might suggest, we’re not all going to die from radioactive fallout. The scientists know what they’re doing.
IV: The subterranean market
In a different area of the atrium, I run into my wife. She is very busy.
Together we descend on metal ladders into a very large circular subterranean area that’s been excavated within the building.
As I understand it, the area functions as something like an all-purpose market, or a student union.
My wife is carrying out some sort of audit. Whether she’s looking for art supplies for her work, or simply helping out by checking if all the toiletries are stocked up, I don’t know.
The area is exotic and impressive, like a ‘Star Wars’ location
The area is exotic and impressive, like a location imagined for a Star Wars movie. In practical terms, moving around it is like negotiating your way around a submarine.
The place is a maze of narrow tunnels and shafts, connecting a series of rooms that are all as cramped as broom cupboards. Getting anywhere requires constant ducking, sidestepping and climbing.
Even something as simple as finding and using the public toilet means shuffling and twisting around a pillar to locate a single urinal, which has been installed at an odd angle into the exposed wall. At least the place is well-lit.
I help my wife climb up the side of a cramped alcove to reach for some kitchen roll on a high shelf. I start to feel anxious.
I don’t want to be here, I think to myself. What if people find out I’m claustrophobic? It’s a weakness.
