(C) Julie Boyd

Last night I had sex with George Clooney and a very pleasant experience it was too.

I’m surprised that I remember, but glad that I do.

There was furniture involved. A house across the street from where my parents lived had a large shed full of furniture, including some of mine. I’d gone over to retrieve some of it with a friend. My mum was there and my kids were young and had just left for the airport in a small bus. I was trying to get ready to follow them.  I only had 15 minutes and I hadn’t yet packed.

If I didn’t retrieve the furniture it was going to be thrown out and I wanted to keep some pieces I thought my kids would like. I wandered around the warehouse identifying the pieces I wanted. I remember a cane chaise and chair that would be perfect out on the patio, a small exquisite folding table and chair, a couple of brass pots and an art deco kitchen storage cupboard with stained glass doors that I kept crockery in.

There were a number of young men wandering around looking busy and I was trying to catch their attention to ask them to help move the stuff over to Mum’s house until I could make other arrangements. A couple were too busy when I asked them and their mother had just come in. She was short, stout, with beehive hair and spoke in a strong Jewish accent – much like some of the women I heard in New York when I was there. I decided to ask her if they could help – which was somewhat of a mistake as she started to lecture me on why the furniture had to be ethnically cleansed, which didn’t make sense to me even in the dream. I tried to be polite while feeling totally offended by what she was saying. As I was about to tell her how disgusting she was, she wandered off and a woman with shoulder length blonde hair and a kind face, around 50 or 60 years old, stepped in front of me. She guided me away, said that her son would be happy to help and asked me to show her what I wanted moved, which I did. I explained why each piece was important and she listened carefully. When she asked why I didn’t want all of the pieces I said that some were no longer important, wouldn’t fit, and the kids wouldn’t like them.

I thanked her and left. My mum and my friend Lois had already gone. So I went back across the road, found myself in my own little house on the beach- not in the country town where Mum’s house was- and George arrived lugging the furniture. My house had morphed into a hybrid of my beach house and a former house I used to have that had a whole secret section that no one except me ever entered. It was here to this private world that George carried the furniture, placing it with great care where I decided it was to go. Then the whole sex thing started, and went on and on and onnnnn.  I won’t go into details- but boy it was good. He wanted to stay.  I told him I had to catch the plane but if he’d wait around I’d be back. I woke up just as I was leaving.

I’m reading a book about virtual reality and a ‘second life’ type world and I’d had a couple of tequilas last night. I’ve no idea if they had anything to do with George, but I’m feeling as if I need to repeat the performance tonight to see how it all turns out.

I rarely dream and they don’t normally stick in my memory, or make any sense, but this one did. I wonder why?