Sharkey

I still dream about London, after thirteen years in Germany; in particular and most often, this place. I spent seventeen years in London, and never lived farther than two kilometers away from the centre of this satellite photo.

Often in dreams I take the bus from Euston Station up Camden High Street, get out behind Sainsbury's and walk through back alleys to Parkway and thence home. Camden is the scene of more dreams than any other place I can identify, not even my childhood home in Toronto occurs more often.

I was there again last night, a complex dream of much travelling on many buses, which began with a trainload of us (don't know who we all were) stranded in the middle of the night at Marylebone Station. A friend came by with her husband and their baby, and invited all hundred of us to come to their house which backed onto Primrose Hill Park, via a long bus ride through Highgate and York Way. Their house had a huge, hilly, unkempt garden, we all slept outdoors on the grass or at tables and chairs. I met an old lover there, though I hadn't noticed that she had been on the train with us; I cannot now identify her though in the logic of the dream I knew her well. We slept wrapped in each other's arms, naked under the stars and not at all embarrassed by the other people (very unusual for my dreams, nakedness in public is usually traumatic). I was an architect in the dream, the friend whose house it was wanted my opinion on some matter, so I and my reunited lost lover, still wrapped in each other's arms, walked around her property which now backed onto the Thames at Wapping, then went back to the garden where dawn was breaking (though it had been midday in Wapping) and lay down again.

The mood of the dream, which carried over into this morning, was of contentment and peace: a dream of being comforted. Not just the influence of my lost lover, everyone there was a friend of mine and was glad to be with me. I wish I could work out who she was/is. She had a particular way of hugging me from behind and tucking her head below my left arm, which is utterly familiar, but I just can't place the memory. How odd.

In other news I had a made-up salad for dinner, not exactly a Niçoise: half an avocado, a romaine lettuce chopped fine, half a tin of tuna, 75g of white mushrooms fried and let cool to lukewarm, mayonnaise, salt and a sprinkling of cayenne pepper; served with tap water and a slice of four-grain bread. Delicious.

This salad is called "What's in the fridge that doesn't flinch when I reach for it?"

The title of this post is a tiny musical quiz: for two points, explain its significance. Only one hint: the year is 1984.