Sunday, 28 November 2010

Test your luck

I dreamed last night that Kylie Minogue was sitting on my lap.

I'd also like to point out that I am in no way attracted to Kylie. I have, however, met her; during my post-university year before I became a TA, I worked for a major chain of bookshops and secured a position in one of the massive ones in central London - one of the shops that had celebrities visiting. We had The Hoff at one point, with his entourage of very excited girls. We also had Matt Lucas and David Walliams, Gordon Ramsay, Michael Barrymore(!), Maisy the Mouse and Poppy Cat (actually, I was Poppy Cat, the costume was bearable; sorry to spoil the illusion), Julie Andrews and, as I've mentioned, Kylie. Kylie herself is very short, Australian, and nice. Much less objectionable than her younger sister who is judging on The X Factor and, ergo, is dead to me.

I don't know too much about her otherwise. I saw and appreciated her on Jools Holland's Hootenanny a couple of years back, doing her 'sultry' act. I've never really listened to her music and I don't think there's much in her physical appearance either (although she's more attractive than her sister); even if I did do celebrity crushes, she probably wouldn't be in the running (sorry, Kylie). I may have worn (and still own, and still wear on occasions) a pink T-shirt with her signature on it (it's quite similar to mine, with a kiss at the end, and everything), but that's about it.

This is, apart from anything else, what makes the dream so confusing.

I don't even remember that much of it. I remember being in a gathering of people, and Kylie walked in, recognised me - although I seriously doubt she would recognise me; she barely even saw me for a few seconds - and then decided to sit on my lap, which was apparently comfortable (bonus fact: my lap is comfortable; TD, H, Mini, Rebecca and others will all tell you the same). She wasn't being particularly affectionate, although not cold either. She was, as far as I could tell, taking advantage of the fact that she is Kylie Fucking Minogue and can do what the hell she wants.

I also remember everyone else in the dream (whoever they were) being rather jealous of the fact that I had Kylie on my knee. What's more, and rather bizarrely, I also remember waking up and still having the sensation of a short Australian pressing against my legs. And no, before you ask, I haven't been sleeping with H, so put your conspiracy theories to bed, observational reader! Keeping my eyes closed, the feeling was very apparent. But, even if I had wanted it to be so, Kylie wasn't there.

Which is probably a good thing, in hindsight. Because that would lead to some very interesting rumours... and probably a more exciting blog post than this one, in which the most interesting thing you've found out is probably the fact that I dressed up as a cat once.

Ah, well. As I said to H at work the day afterwards, "did I mention I'm not a cat?"

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