Monday, 9th of July

The week has been subdued, but also quite unnerving. Each night now we’ve had the same dream – The Manor as a God given sanctuary appearing over a hill. In the morning I wake up feeling safe, as if the walls are protecting me and nothing can harm me here, but then the realisation comes of what that means to the rest of the world if we’re the last bolthole. Nothing has happened yet, when I saw it Saturday the TV was still talking about Barclays, Libor and Andy Murray – while we sat together and talked about the end of the world. But surely there’s a way we can still warn people what’s about to happen. Surely there’s some chance we can make a difference.
For now Dexter Phillips doesn’t feel the same and is cutting off our internet access and removing our televison and radio to keep the world out – to “allow us to get used to what’s about to happen’. Everyone is going along with it for now, but there is a dark mood amongst us.

I will blog again when I get chance.

Friday, 6th of July

Despite Dexter Phillips’ calm demeanour, in spite of the casualness with which he delivered the news, the room fell silent at that point. We had come here to help after all, to put ourselves in a position where we could alert the rest of the world what is about to happen. The reason we came here was to be the warning beacon, the recue guard. Instead Dexter Phillips was making it clear to us that his vision saw this commune as the life-raft, we are the few chosen ones who will escape and set up a new world beyond the one we have now. Everything we have ever known will be gone, everyone we have ever loved will be dead (or now a slavering maniac, unrecognisable from the people they were before) and we would be asked to stride forward into this brave new world – as what? A group of Adams and Eves? Colonists from the past trying to carve out the future?
I think Dexter Phillips was surprised that when he delivered his talk with an almost breezy demeanour, some people began to cry.

Thursday, 5th of July

We will have everything we need at The Manor, Dexter Phillips told us. The house has its own generator, and there is a well in the garden and livestock on the grounds. There is the of course the slight chance of them being stolen or sabotaged in some way, but we’ve seen those in the world after the incident (that is the phrase he used – ‘the incident’) and such acts of calculated terror are clearly beyond them. We would be safe in The Manor, we could thrive in The Manor, and we could greet the world beyond on our terms.

All we have to do is get our heads around the fact that everyone we’ve ever known, and everything we’ve ever known, is gone.

Wednesday, 4th of July

Dexter Phillips’ message was stark, but delivered with a calm which seemed to me later almost eerie. He was the one person standing in the room – the rest of us sit on the floor – and he moved among us like a hip, young university lecturer addressing an informal study group. His tone had that quality too, conversational, casual, as if what we were discussing was not that big a deal at all. Or maybe that’s unfair, perhaps there was a slight sharpness to his tone – but no more than a weatherman letting the great British public know there was a nasty storm on the way.
The end of the world is coming, he told us, and we are the ones best prepared.

Tuesday, 3rd of July

The world won’t listen to what it doesn’t want to hear, Dexter Phillips tells us. Ask any environmentalist, ask any doomsayer about the economy – people do not want to listen to anything that affects the status quo, to anything which might disrupt their comfort.

But what we have to tell them is huge, the news we have to announce to the world is immense – and for that reason alone it won’t be listened to. The powers that be will just see this strange little community, a commune, a strange cult. You can see the words which will be thrown about already, we’ll just be another band of cranks. Even those out there who are similarly having these dreams will be encouraged to laugh at us. Nothing will happen if we tell the world, nothing all.

As such we have to accept that what we’re dreaming is going to happen and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. And with that in mind we have to be in the right place when it happens.

Monday, 2nd of July

The same dream two nights in a row for all of us. Again we all woke up having seen visions of The Manor appearing over the hill as a haven, a sanctuary. Once more this caused a buzz of excitement around the dining room in the morning. As having spent the last few weeks discussing the same dreams we’ve all endured for months on end, this is something exciting.
Only Dexter Phillips was unperturbed, only he retained his calm. Finally Elvina/Denise asked why – and his reply was astonishing.

Apparently he’s been having this very dream for months, seeing this house as a sanctuary – and that was one of the reasons why he brought us here to Wales. He has determined that London is not safe (indeed no cities are), that it’s tainted. As he explained this to us, he even pointed to me and said that the same thing is in my book, a sense of London as a place filled with danger and fear. That’s why he wanted us to leave. Not that we could all be together in the country necessarily, but so we could all be safe from London.

We are the chosen ones he told us, and so we have to be together and protected away from those in the towns and cities.

Sunday, 1st of July

A new dream!
It is afterwards. After the object has fallen from the sky, after the virus has infected the majority of the human race. I am staggering in the darkness through the countryside. My legs ache and my feet are blistered, as if I’ve been running for days. In the distance I wonder if I can hear these ‘new’ people, the infected ones, but in my rational mind I know that they mainly stay in the towns and cities – better pickings there. They are not going to pursue me over fields and hillocks, and yet still I run.

It’s incredibly dark. Of course it’s been dark for a long time now, but the countryside is like stumbling through sheer blackness. I have fallen and tumbled so many times, I even think my shoulder might be fractured. But still I go on, even though I know there’s only a small chance I’m being chased, it’s still enough to spur me forwards.

Suddenly I find myself at a ridge. Hearing (or imagining) some nearby sound, I desperately try to scrabble up at it, kicking away with my feet and aching arm. Finally I pull myself to the top and beyond is like heaven.

There’s a house, a grand old house, but one that is actually lit and so looks protected. The light from it shines into the sky so ethereal. With a gasp of joy I start pelting towards it.

I dreamt this in my room within The Manor, a large house in West Wales. The house in my dream – and we all had the same dream last night – is clearly The Manor.

Thursday, 28th of June

So what are we going to do about it? What are we going to do with the fact that we thirteen are seemingly the only ones who can see the end of the world is very nigh? Dexter Phillips has become much more gnomic about this, wary of opening his mouth to any pronouncement. He stares at us, he nods knowingly when asked, but the great schemes he talked of before we got here seem to have temporarily gone quiet.
Why that is I don’t know, and it frustrates the hell out of me. Forget the economic crisis, Barclays Bank or any of the other nonsense I see in the news these days – something truly serious is about to happen.

Wednesday, 27th of June

What I noticed this morning was how much we have all started resembling each other. As we sit around the dining room (or what was the dining room, there is no table and we sit in a large circle on the floor) and talk about our dreams, we manage the same facial expressions. There is something wide-eyed and disbelieving of the things we’ve seen in our heads, but also a complete belief in the meaning of the dream and the importance of getting every single detail out there. Even when we disagree, when we see things different in our dreams – the same tone of voice echoes around the room. We have seen these things in our minds, we have written them down and painted them, and can still conjure them before our eyes if we concentrate. As such we’re very protective when someone tries to disagree with us and our vision. But it’s a protection which comes with a caveat, as we know that everyone feels the same about their dreams and so even when debating, we end up bending our own personal visions around to accommodate the others in the group.
The only person who looks different is Dexter Phillips himself. He looks calmer than the rest of us, more serene. His voice never takes on a hectoring tone. But then he is the one who stands in the meetings, he is the one who can interject to take them in new directions. Undoubtedly he is the person in charge.

Monday, 25th of June

So, what about what about the thing which raises itself up from below? The beast which, in my Surrey Quays dreams, smashes apart the tarmac seemingly determined to destroy us all? In that particular dream I’m stood outside the shopping centre, feeling a terrifying sense of dread that seems shared by everyone around me. Then, suddenly, the world shakes and the pavement bursts to reveal something. What it is I don’t know, but I’m sure I have seen it in my night visions and think that it was so terrible that my mind has just blocked it out.
We have all had variations of this dream, we’ve all experienced the dread of this primal force rising up from below our feet – from the very core of the earth – to devour every one of us.

But what does it mean? The vision that’s most persuasive suggests something will drop from the sky and unleash a virus likely to destroy us all. So what is this terrible thing from below? How does that fit in? Sometimes, now we’re all together (and the power of these dreams seems a hundredfold more intense, now we are altogether), we all get the sense that something is watching us. Others think that we are monitored by forces (government or other) somehow, but I occasionally have the thought that it’s the thing below looking up and wondering how we’re coming along.

Sunday, 24th of June

We dream each night, then talk all day and discuss what (if anything) we are going to do. I have never felt so much part of a community, but I’ve also never felt so lonely as well. Here we are in a big manor house in West Wales, the only thirteen people – perhaps in the world – who share these experiences, and it allows us a window into each other’s souls. Over the course of each day we don’t just talk about our dreams (that might be a recipe for insanity), but bond as we discuss other things and find out what we have in common. I am part of something here, something that is incredibly and uncannily special.
However I am also very alone. Each night we sleep by ourselves – which of course is better to aid our dreams – but it means that I miss Julie. Even though I see her in the day, she is just one of the group now – the member I know best, but still one of thirteen alike souls. I am making new friends, forging new connections, but in the process I seem to have lost my girlfriend.

Dexter Phillips is right though, we need to concentrate on the dreams. A bruised heart is going to be the least of our worries when this thing slams into Earth and it all begins.

Thursday, 21st of May

The world afterwards is a dark and nightmarish place, where those few of us who survive and aren’t infected (what is it about us that makes us immune to infection? Do the dreams give us some kind of protection?) live a life on the margins. The air is heavy and clogged with ash, and all around us is the next stage of man – one which has given us all semblances of civilisation, and where cannibalism and horrific violence are not only the norm, but a source of great pleasure. We real survivors have to creep around them, knowing that like all hunters their senses are heightened, and if they were to intuit our presence their fingers would dig deep beneath our flesh and rip our bones from their sockets.
Out here in Wales the dreams are so intense that we can spend the first half hour of a morning just holding each other as a group, trying to briefly protect ourselves from what’s to come.

Wednesday, 20th of June

And yet the consequences of this, whatever it is, aren’t confined to London. Those of us in the Capital see the survivors as a rampaging crowd, a violent and ruthless band of feral beasts – but everyone across the world also sees their fellow man in the same terms. But I don’t see that as an echo of what’s happening in London, as the others have dreams where they are ripped apart by their friends and family. In their minds, in great detail, they are tortured and killed by their loved ones. These aren’t complete strangers, these aren’t far away echoes, this is something that happening to them.
Something is going to crash into the planet, and with it will come this plague of violence.

Tuesday, 19th of May

But how can all of us - who in geographic location, range across the UK, Ireland, Germany and the States – see the same thing striking the Earth? Clearly when the sky rips jagged, torn apart in a mix of reds and blacks, it cannot be the same meteorite we’re seeing. One of the theories which has been suggested is that it’s a meteor shower, that there are dozens of huge projectiles coming at us from different angles. What we’re witnessing is a huge celestial storm hitting the solar system and destroying our planet as we know it.

Except, those of us domiciled in London see it far more vivid and colourful than anyone else. (We have now taken to drawing the pictures of our dreams and the hues are far more vivid for those of us in the English capital). The theory I subscribe to is that what those overseas are seeing is an echo of the London dream. We are all in this together, but because the others are less familiar with London they transplant the image to their own locale. They are seeing it, but not quite seeing it.

I believe that this thing is coming to British shores, and it will hit a city of eight million people with huge force.

Monday, 18th of June

This is what the apocalypse looks like.
When we close our eyes, this is the consensus of what we see.

Something will fall from the sky. Those of us in the commune will be stood outside our homes (or perhaps the houses of our loved ones) when something will tear up the sky and smash into the Earth. Then there will be destruction and devastation, whole cities will burn and ash clouds miles wide will spread over continents. There will be survivors though. All of us in The Manor seem destined to live through this cataclysm. However a large number of the other ‘lucky ones’ are infected with something, so that humanity is still alive but the nature of it is completely ordered. The majority of those who are left are wild with bloodlust and determined to tear their fellow man apart.

Sunday, 17th of June

We are now all together. There are twelve of us, disciples if you will of Dexter Phillips. (We all realise how biblical this looks and joke about it from time to time – but until we find more people who have these dreams then that’s the way it is). We get up to a ringing bell in the morning, which frankly is as relieving as any bell rang at the end of a particularly fraught round of boxing, and then stagger down to the breakfast room. After we eat some cereal we get together and explore what we all saw the night before, how the images are linked and what they all mean. It’s wearisome work, but the theories are forming and it feels like we’re getting somewhere.
All of us together we are a commune, a collective – one that is working for the noble cause of saving the world. And perhaps I for one would feel better about all of that, if it wasn’t for the intensity of the dreams and the doom hanging over us the whole time.

Wednesday, 13th of June

The internet connection isn’t all it could be at The Manor, but apparently that will be fixed soon.
Still people come – from different backgrounds, countries and cultures – all of us brought together by these pictures in our head and Dexter Phillips’ promise that combined we can make a difference. There are eight of us now, with the other five expected by the end of the week.

The dreams are getting more intense. We stare at each other warily in the morning, each of us wondering who’ll be the first to broach the subject of the horrible things we saw last night. Dexter Phillips is incredibly excited though, he thinks that whatever it is will be coming soon. That if we don’t act – and if they don’t listen to us – then the world by the end of the year will be totally unrecognisable.

Sunday, 10th of June

We are in Wales.
Dexter Phillips wasn’t lying when he said he comes from money, as I am typing this from a grand (if slightly needing maintenance) house on the West Wales coast. There is a Welsh name for it, but Dexter – and apparently the entire Phillips family – refer to it as The Manor. It’s the kind of place that once upon a time would have had servants, but now we are self sufficient. There is a rota for cooking breakfast and dinner, and in-between we talk about our dreams and what they mean to the wider world.

After Dexter Phillips and Denise, Julie and I were the first to arrive. We were surprised to find ourselves given single bedrooms. Even when we reminded Dexter that we’re a couple, the sleeping arrangements didn’t alter. The most important things, he said, are the dreams and nothing (including amorous encounters) must be allowed to get in the way of those.

Arriving over the course of the week was Jessica, a hairdresser from Hull; Tom an Australian accountant; and Hans, a footballer from a lower league German team. There are more on their way, we’re promised, but the dynamic between the group as it is now is good. When you’re seeing the same pictures each night, then you do have a lot in common.

Maybe it’s the clean coastal air, or maybe it’s the fact that so many of us are together – but the dreams seem even more intense out here. They are the same dreams, I am still seeing London and my home within the city, but that seems a long way away now.

Wednesday, 6th of June

A quick note that I’m typing hurriedly in the corridor of a train, having excused myself to go to the loo.
I had a call from Alison!

Yes, Alison, my Australian girlfriend who disappeared from my life (and everybody else’s) at the start of the year. I hadn’t thought of her in days, but my phone went off yesterday evening from a  with-held number. At first I couldn’t hear her, it was just static. I was just about to hang up thinking it was a dreadful line, when I heard her voice in the background. It only lasted a few seconds, but she said: “Have a great time in Wales! I’m sure you’ll find what you need!”

Has she read this blog, is that how she knows? But then how can she have found me in Budapest? That wasn’t on this blog beforehand. And of course the biggest question, why does she reach out so obliquely?

I haven’t told Julie about this, I haven’t told Dexter Phillips about Julie either – and yet I can’t help thinking this has something to do with our dreams.

Tuesday, 5th of July

Well, the decision has been made, we are going to Wales. While everyone else was watching the Queen celebrate her sixty years on the throne (or sixty years since they first actually put the crown on her head – I believe they’re different dates, and I’ve stopped paying attention to the mundane or predictable parts of the news) we’ve been packing. It has been a week that has seen both Julie and I racked with dreams. When the alarm has gone off in the morning, we’ve crawled with red ringed eyes into the waking world, still shaking from the night before. Each of us has lost hours of the day on the phone to Dexter Phillips, relating our dreams to him and hearing what went on in his head last night – as well as what other members of our group have told him. Then at the end of each day, mentally and physically exhausted, we curl up next to each other and fearfully await the next instalment of our night-time terrors.
Clearly something has got to give. We cannot concentrate on our life anymore at work, indeed the whole of waking life at the moment is hard after being torn apart by our dreams. And so tomorrow neither of us will go to work, we will each close the door to our flats for the last time, and start the train trip to West Wales.

Thursday, 31st of May

The dream in The City last night, where I’m standing outside The Royal Exchange and have a hoard of crazed humanity charge at me. Only this time the dream went much further. I could feel the crowd above me, their sharp nails slashing into my skin and their fingers gourging into my eye sockets. My God! I could even feel them start to bite my flesh. I was being eaten alive by this insane pack of animals in human skin.
This morning I was still shaking when I called Dexter Phillips to tell him about it. He pointed out a case in Miami this week where a guy on bad acid ate a passing motorist’s face. There was apparently also a man in North Jersey who stabbed himself and threw his skin and intestines at the police. Dexter’s view is very much that there is something happening out there which our dreams are tapping into.

Wednesday, 30th of May

The Surrey Quays dream once again, only this time it got further than it has ever done before. In the dream last night I felt the sheer dread of what is about to happen, saw the frightened look in the pregnant lady’s eyes, and tumbled onto my arse as the ground ripped itself open. But last night I also saw – or think I saw – the thing beneath the ground. I couldn’t tell you now what shape it is, or what it remotely looks like, but I could tell that its hot burning eyes were boring straight into me.

Tuesday, 29th of May

In my dream last night I was stood outside the Surrey Quays shopping centre knowing that something awful was going to emerge from below. Of course I’ve had this dream so many times, I’m aware what’s going to happen before there’s a single tremor or hint of disturbance. But last night was different, the fear and intensity of the vision was so incredible that it was impossible to believe for even the fraction of a second that all would be well. The dread seemed to transmit itself onto the faces of all the passers-by. Every one of them looked absolutely terrified, as if they knew without a doubt that the steps they were taking right then were the last ones they’d ever take.
I woke with a yell of fear, covered in sweat. Julie was beside me, crying in her sleep.

Monday, 28th of May

Last night was the dream where I’m stood out on my street. I am alone, stark naked and staring at the houses opposite fully aware that something terrible is coming my way. It is going to crash from the sky and destroy all around me. What is it? I still have no idea, but as I stand there and feel the breeze tingle every inch of my skin, I know how dreadful it will be.
Just as dreadful is the fact that I’m alone. I know that somewhere there are other people having the exact same experience to me, but they so far away and I am completely unable to contact them. Instead I am utterly by myself, there is no one sympathetic around me. All I can feel is hostility. There are eyes peering at me naked and vulnerable, but each of the gazes is hostile and frightening. These people – hidden away behind their doors and windows – also sense this coming doom, but they are not responding with fear, they are lashing out with hatred for those who are not like them. Stood out on my street, I am very much not like them. I am trembling and afraid.

Sunday, 27th of May

Julie and I have stayed up late talking about it, we’ve called into work sick so we can stay at home discussing it. Sometimes we feel that Dexter Phillips may just be a crank and to give up our careers (admittedly, Julie’s career has had a lot more hard work go into it than my career) is sheer insanity. Equally, what are we going to say to our families when we disappear into the middle of nowhere in West Wales?
But then, the dreams come, so intense and unbelievably scary – so full of portents of danger – that something drastic seems like the only possible response to them.

Friday, 25th of May

In a way it’s blackmail, but clearly Dexter Phillips sees it as more noble than that. We are crusaders, he told us, our role is not only to save the world but improve it.

At the end of the afternoon he and Elvina/Denise left myself and Julie rather shell-shocked. He made it clear again that Wales was by far the best option, that he will look after any financial concerns we might have. This is our chance, he said, and we have to seize it.

We’ve spent the rest of the week thinking on what he’d said and wondering whether we should take this leap into the dark.

Thursday, 25th of May

Once all together in out Welsh country domicile, we can work out what these visions mean and which of them represents the true end of the world. When we have that information clear (Dexter Phillips thinks that will only be a matter of weeks) we will confront the world with the knowledge.

In fact we can do more than confront the world, he told us. We can make a great claim for seeing what is going on, but if people want to know the full story of what is about to happen then things have to change. The world is an ill place at the moment, seriously sick – and if they want the patient to be saved from death, then some of that has to improve before we tell them fully what is going to happen and what they have to do.

Wednesday, 23rd of May

The first step is to get all of us together, the dream guru said. It’s crucial that he is no longer the conduit, instead we should all be in one place and talking. Each day should begin with a discussion of what we’ve just dreamed, a comparison, so that we can interpret what we’ve seen and shape the vision that is being presented.
That is what we are, Dexter Phillips told us, visionaries of a new age.

He wants us all to resign our jobs, to give up our lives. With a twinkle in his eye he told us that he is rich, that his family has money. What’s more, he has a large house in West Wales. It’s quiet and secluded, and has plenty of room for thirteen people to dream safely and work out what’s going to happen next. This coming together has to be fast, he said, within the next few weeks. There’s no need to worry about notice periods or rents, he will handle all of that. We should just quit and go.

Then, when we are all in one place, we will plot what to do next.

Tuesday, 22nd of March

Those who have knowledge have power, Dexter Phillips told us.
We were sat in a small bar at Waterloo, the four of us – Dexter, Denise, Julie and myself – huddled across a small table in a darkened corner. There was a jukebox in the background, but it was as if Dexter’s voice echoed over us.

Undoubtedly we had the knowledge – Dexter continued – the thirteen of us together were seeing what was to come, we had access to the shape of the future. The notion that we were all mad, that we were all deluded was not an accusation that could be thrown at us. We came from different places, from different countries. If you were to separate us continents apart and test us, kept us away from each other, we would all still dream the same thing. The scientists (at that word I heard a slight tinge of sneering hostility) can run all the experiments they like, we would be able to pass them. We have the future in our heads, in our grasps, and it was time to use this information.

We have to let the world know.

Monday, 21st of May

Well, myself and Julie met with Denise and Dexter Phillips yesterday and it was huge! After a week of hearing about her dreams, of having them tally with the rest of the group, there was no hesitation on Dexter Phillips’s part. He clutched Julie’s hands and welcomed her like a prodigal daughter.
He has been holding back, he told us, until we were the correct number. There are twelve of us following him now, thirteen of us all enduring variations of the same dreams. We should be enough, he said, to prepare for what is undoubtedly coming.

Slowly he started to outline his full theory.

Thursday, 17th of May

Dexter Phillips tells me he has managed to get hold of a copy of my book, express delivery from Amazon. Elvina/Denise also has a copy. He says that he hasn’t read too much of the way into it yet, but he thinks he can see signs of the dreams already there. In some of my imagery, in the descriptions, he claims to see the beginnings of what is now happening to us. I told him that I wrote it two or so years ago now, before this began, it surely couldn’t be possible for him to see hints there.
There was a pause on the phone and then his voice raised slightly – both gently and determinedly. He asked if I seriously imagined that this has only just started happening. Did I not realise that this is something that has stretched back for millions of years? If this is the end of the world, then its roots are not new. Its roots would, undoubtedly be there at the beginning, and so what we are now tapping into is ancient.

Actually speechless, I just nodded numbly.

Wednesday, 16th of May

I had the dream of zombies last night (if that’s what they actually are).
I’m stood in The City on a beautiful summer’s day (so unlike the ones it’s been our pleasure to enjoy this May) and from the distance comes the pounding of rushing feet. Even though I’ve had this dream so many times now, even though a large part of me knows what’s coming, I still have all kinds of wild theories rushing through my mind as to what that noise could be. Is it some kind of runaway train? Is it a herd of buffalo? (A common sight in The City of London). Even though I on many levels know what’s coming, I still flinch when this mass of deranged humanity charges around the corner towards me. They come as a wave, an unstoppable force. There are all these people in suits and summer dresses and shorts and T-shirts; ostensibly normal human beings, now with the gleam of death in their eyes. It’s only when they are upon me that I really get afraid, that I crouch down and cry out when their fingers tear into my flesh.

Julie had a dream of being chased screaming outside her flat last night.

Dexter Phillips’ dream saw him on top of a hill looking at all this carnage humanity is ripping into itself.

The two of them are going to meet each other this Sunday.

Tuesday, 15th of May

It happened again!
Last night Julie had the same dream of underground terror that Denise, Dexter and I did. Of course she has heard so much about these dreams from me that it would surely be possible for her to recreate them in her psyche – and that was the reason why I didn’t tell the others about it yesterday. But the fact that she’s now had the same dream as us two nights in a row cannot just be a combination of an overactive imagination and coincidence. It has to be something more. I called Dexter Phillips and, after a moment’s pause, I heard his voice break into a smile. He very much wants to meet her.

Monday, 14th of May

I spent the night at my place last night, but Julie called me first thing to tell me of her dream. Incredibly it tallies with the very dream I had. I was stood on Oxford Street, she was on Regent Street walking to meet me. From nowhere there is a huge explosion. Of course she has heard me tell of this dream a couple of times, but the fact that it happened on the same night I dreamt it again and was seemingly so vivid for her has to mean something, right?

Sunday, 13th of May

And so I’ve had a lot to think about this week, a great deal to contemplate. I’ve been in contact with Dexter Phillips on a daily basis. Each morning I call him and tell him what I dreamt the night-before, then we compare notes. It’s interesting as when I have the dream of me stood on my street knowing something is going to strike from above, he has a dream where he’s outside his house with exactly the same feelings of anxiety. When I dream I’m in the Surrey Quays shopping centre with a monster rising from below, he is also dreaming of a subterranean doom coming for us all. I also speak to Denise, and it’s uncanny how closely the three of us dream.
Julie is fascinated by it. We stay up late and talk about in bed, and I tell her my dreams and Dexter’s dreams and Denise’s dreams and we try to interpret it all. She hasn’t seen the things inside my head, so as an outsider may spot some sign or hint I’ve missed. I’m glad I have her. She no longer looks at me as if I’m weird, instead she hangs on what I tell her and is there to offer help.

She’s a godsend. There are even moments when I think I’m in love with her.

Friday, 11th of May

At the end of the afternoon, with Elvina/Denise hanging on every syllable, Dexter Phillips leant across the table so that the tips of his fingers were nearly touching mine.
What we do next, he told me, is crucial. For whatever reason we have been chosen, we are important people in the world right now. We are the authors of the gospel of the future. As such, he said, we had to stay in touch. Not just in touch, in close and daily contact, so that we can be ready for whatever comes next. I have to share all my dreams with him, tell him every detail that I can remember. He will then compare them to the dreams of the others, and look for changes. The dreams are important because they are shared, but any changes to the dreams will be of crucial importance – as they will tell us what’s coming next. We have to know, realise and be prepared for whatever is coming next.

His eyes entreated me so earnestly to join his little family, Denise’s eyes did the same. I have been alone with these thoughts for so long now, how could I possibly say no?

Thursday, 10th of April

So what does this mean?
It’s what I asked, and I’m sure what you’re wondering too.

Dexter Phillips told me he doesn’t really know, all he has are theories – but his eyes brimmed with zeal as he told me of them. Maybe, he said, we are prophets. The fact that we’re all having these dreams must obviously mean something, and perhaps we’re here to warn everyone else. If we all come together, then possibly we can find some way to make people listen to us and advert whatever it is that’s going to happen. The belief bubbled in his voice, his words becoming faster while keeping their precision. He clearly thinks that we are saviours, here to warn humanity of impending doom.

Of course there have been people crying ‘The End is Nigh’ for thousands of years. And when you offer your evidence of impending doom as some alleged shared dreams, then people might not be inclined to pay attention. But, as I found on Sunday afternoon, Dexter Phillips is a man people listen to.

Wednesday, 9th of May

Within days, Dexter Phillips told me, he had moved out of the flat he shared with his (albeit increasingly distant) girlfriend and in with his student. It was an insane thing to do, something that was bound to anger the University authorities if or (more likely) when they heard about it, but the way he saw things there was no other choice. The dreams were so all encompassing, so much part of his life, that to be near someone who understood was all he could think of. He saw it as the sane thing for him to do.
Briefly he asked about my relationship status. I told him that Julie was trying to be very understanding, but didn’t really mention Alison. Even though I think she’s part of all this, the strangeness of what’s happened with Alison seemed an aspect to save for another day.

Before he was pushed, Dexter Phillips left the University and immersed himself in the world of dreams. There are apparently conferences and forums and get-togethers for dream seers, there are publications which exist both in print and on the web, designed to help people interpret their dreams. He made himself present in that world, told anyone who would listen what was happening in his head – what was happening in his young girlfriend’s head – and gradually he found people who’d had the same experiences, the very same dreams. Some came to him, some he sought out – but gradually a group is moving together.

He has ten so far, including himself. I am the eleventh.

Tuesday, 8th of May

Dexter Phillips spoke with great precision, his words striding forth determinedly and without hesitation. So despite his voice, there is almost an hypnotic rhythm to what he has to say. This is clearly a subject he’s thought of extensively. I, and Denise (who I think must have heard it dozens of times before), were both gripped by his speech.
He has been having these dreams for over a year. At first he thought nothing of them. In the past he’s been in therapy and knows that dreams are normally just a manifestation of internal problems, but these dreams just kept coming, getting more and more intense. He didn’t know what to do, he thought he was losing his mind – his relationship suffered and his job (as a university lecturer) started to slip away from him. Clearly he was cracking up, there was no other explanation.

But then he was talking to a student one day after class and was intrigued when she mentioned something about her dreams. His heart racing slightly, he asked her more. Their brief conversation turned into a discussion lasting hours. They realised that, although they had different perspectives, they were dreaming the same things.

Monday, 7th of May

Dexter Phillips – the dream guru – sat across the table from me in that cafe in Shepherd’s Market. To his side was Denise, the centre of attention in her Elvina persona every Saturday night, but now hidden away in his shadow. He stared at me with his cold blue eyes and started to speak.
His voice wasn’t what I was expecting. I thought he would have an American accent, but this man is clearly from somewhere in the North of England. Newcastle, perhaps Sunderland. The voice doesn’t fit the face, it doesn’t fit the attitude, being a lot more adenoidal. His words though were mesmerising.

This man clearly knows what he’s speaking about. He knows what I’ve been through.

Sunday, 6th of May

I’ve really concentrated on the dreams this week. They are all now so familiar to me that I’m able to take a step back and see what’s truly going on within them and look for clues, for things that are there which will help me understand. That’s both for my own benefit and because I desperately wanted to impress Mister Dexter Phillips. All week long I’ve been thinking about him, and what Denise said. That he is the man who has worked hardest to find the key to all of this, that he has the keenest understanding of what is happening to all the people (and it’s not just me) who dream. I didn’t want to go in there clueless, I didn’t want to be stumbling in with nothing to offer. Undoubtedly I want him to help interpret my dreams, but I also want to interpret some of them myself.
We met in the same coffee house that I‘d met Elvina/Denise in last week.  Initially when I arrived Denise was there alone and she greeted me with a soft kiss on the cheek and a nervous little smile. I felt myself sink within my shoes for a second, thinking that for some reason he hadn’t come. There was no problem though, she said, and then she left me at the table with an Americano and went out – with perhaps a little stardust in her eyes – to fetch him.

As the door opened I could feel the presence of him straight away, the sheer assurance. He’s really not a big man, being – I think – no taller than five foot five, but he greets the world with a solid confidence. Dexter Phillips walked in with a swagger, wearing tight jeans and a brown leather jacket. He’s a good looking guy, with blue eyes, tanned skin and wavy blonde hair – like some California surfer dude exiled from the 1960s. We shook hands and he smiled me a capped smile and then he sat down in front of me.

We faced each other.

Friday, 4th of May

At the end of our coffee it was difficult to know how to say goodbye. It was such an intense hour of conversation that I almost thought I should take her in my arms and hug her. Hold her close and thank her for opening my eyes, giving me salvation from the fear that I was cracking up, Instead after a second or two of fleeting awkwardness, we shook hands and said our goodbyes in a polite and dignified fashion. We are meeting up again this Sunday. She has promised to introduce me to Dexter Phillips.
When I told Julie about it she was amazed and impressed in equal measure. With excitement bubbling in her voice she asked me lots of questions, teasing out every detail. Clearly she’s gone from a kind of warm scepticism, to a serious belief. I think she wants to meet Dexter Phillips herself, but I want to see him first. She says that she also wants to meet Elvina, and I’m holding back on that for now. The Elvina who appears on the stage seems a much different person from the one I met at the weekend, and for now I’d rather focus on the part of her that’s Denise.

Thursday, 3rd of May

Meeting Denise was an incredible experience. The longer she sat in front of me, the less like Elvina she looked. More than that, she didn’t really sound like Elvina either. On the stage her voice is all power, a booming and yet subtly, sexual instrument. Talking to her to share confidences over a cafe table, her voice was much more nervous and soft. At points it was almost a whisper, with each word placed tentatively, yet precisely, in the correct order. The only time her tones got excited, was when she talked about Dexter Phillips.
Apparently he was the first to contact her, having had these dreams and been dreaming about her since the middle of last year. Even though he doesn’t live in London, he sought her out, tracked her down and persuaded her that what he was saying wasn’t totally mad. The other people in his dreams, he’s also had some success in tracking down (lord only knows how). The way Denise speaks about him, it’s like a fourteen year old discussing her favourite pop star – so dreamy and wide eyed, the quicker beating of her heart impossible to disguise. Apparently he’s incredibly knowledgeable, smart and is really building an understanding of what’s happening to us all. She didn’t say it out loud, but I imagine he is also somewhat charismatic.

She is going to introduce me to him this weekend. I cannot wait. Apparently he is anxious to meet me too.

Wednesday, 2nd of May

Elvina/Denise (I have to get used to calling her the latter, not the former) told me that there are a number of different people having these apocalyptic dreams. Perhaps, of everything she told me over that coffee on Sunday afternoon, this was the most illuminated. She has the spotlight, she’s in a position where people can come to her and seek her out.
I am not the first. There is a group of us coming together, we are coalescing. And at the centre of it is a man named Dexter Phillips.

He is having these dreams too, perhaps he had them before anyone else. He is interpreting them, finding out what they mean, helping his fellow sufferers. He is the dream guru.

Tuesday, 1st of May

And in those dreams she recognises me.
Not immediately, she said. It wasn’t as if she saw me on a Saturday night in the bar and instantly knew who she was dreaming about. (I am one of a sea of faces after all, I don’t have my own spotlight). But she said she did know me from somewhere, and then when she read the blog she knew from where. It’s incredible. She is keeping a dream journal and so has gone through and checked and we are having the same dream on the same nights, seeing the same things. But there are others she tells me – others whose faces stand out in this dreamscape, as if their consciousness is more part of it than everyone else’s. She knows who some of them are.

As you can imagine, this is incredible news. This whole thing, which has scared and worried me for the last few months, is not solely about me. This is something happening to lots of people.

Monday, 30th of April

Firstly, from my conversation with Elvina/Denise, the dreams.
Denise also dreams of the end of the world. Perhaps not as regularly as I do, but they’re a common part of her life. She told me some of the details of her dreams, and like me they take in a variety of places and detail different destructions. The most incredible dream for her though, the most vivid dream, is the dream. She can see herself on a stage and extending into the distance – miles into the distance, she said it seems – is a huge and enthusiastic crowd. It’s by far the largest crowd she’s ever seen, let alone performed to. She starts to play, but the songs aren’t her usual repertoire – they are darker and more disturbing, leaning on images of death and torture. And the strange thing is that the crowd loves it and she loves it. Her voice doesn’t alter even though the repertoire has changed, and the crowds just adore these cries of doom. Perhaps, she theorises, everyone there knows what’s to come and all are welcoming it in.

But the moment seems to come quicker than anyone can imagine, as just as she hits a high note there is a boom in the distance and suddenly everything in front of her evaporates.

Sunday, 29th of April

I’m just back from my coffee in Elvina. Nervously I walked through the rain to a cafe in Shepherd’s Market and now my head is spinning. To be honest I didn’t recognise her, the girl I met was a paler and more wan, with dirty blonde hair (in performance it’s a wig apparently). Off stage she also seemed shorter, less curvy, shyer. Her eyes were the same though, she would always have difficulty hiding that sparkle in her eyes. Leaning forward as we were sharing confidences (and quite softly spoken) she told me that a lot of what I see is showmanship and confidence. She isn’t Elvina in real life.
In real life she is Denise, and it’s what Denise has to tell me which is crucial:

·         She is having dreams as well. In fact she is having the exact same dream where she stands on that stage, performing in a park and sees a nuclear explosion in the distance.

·         Not only that, she has seen and recognised me in her dreams.

·         There are others like us, others dreaming the same thing. She’s been busier than I was, is less prone to navel gazing, and has got to know some of them.

·         One of them is a dream guru, someone who is exploring this phenomenon and linking them altogether. His name is Dexter Phillips and she is going to introduce me to him.

But that’s only the bare bones of what she told me and I will write all these incredible things in full detail throughout the week. For now, I have to sit down and stop my heart from beating so fast.

Saturday, 28th of April

It was the dream in the park last night. All of us stood together staring at some distant stage, on which Elvina – looking delicious in her full regal Elvis outfit – blasts out doom laden songs to a fast beat. I am stood with Julie (it is definitely Julie) and she bounces happily in my arms as if she doesn’t understand what’s going on. Perhaps no one but me understands what's going on, maybe not one of them is aware that behind us will bloom up a mushroom cloud. We are listening to the end of the world and the end of the world is coming to meet us.
Except there might be one person there who does know what I know. She’s a long way off and so I can’t be sure, but Elvina looks clearer to me up there on the stage. It’s like she’s staring directly at me. Possibly, just possibly, we are communicating already.

Friday, 27th of April

I spoke to Julie on the phone last night and told her about my upcoming coffee with Elvina. She seemed happy for me. Clearly her head is spinning a bit with all this stuff I’m telling her, but she is still there and still supportive. She said she wants to know everything we talk about. She also said she wants to see an Elvina show, just to know who this woman is.
Even though I’m excited about this meeting too, I’m also nervous as hell. What on Earth is Elvina/Denise going to say? What is the answer to all this?

Julie also said she started reading my book and now understands me better. To be honest I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.

Wednesday, 25th of April

An email has arrived!
Elvina/Denise writes:

“Hi. Yes I have read the blog and I think we should meet up. Sunday? Coffee? D.”

When one is having dreams about the end of the world, when one contacts the real people in those dreams and tries to establish a connection which may exist nowhere else but one’s sub-conscious – then, at points, one is entitled to feel that one has gone a little bit mad. There is almost the sound of white coats flapping on the breeze. But when that reaching out elicits a response, then that’s something else. This thing seems bigger than me, and I’m determined to find out what it is.

Monday, 23rd of April

I had a coffee with Julie yesterday. This time I’m being open, this time I’m being upfront. I told her about Elvina and how she appears in my dreams, and how I’ve developed the notion that she is connected in some way to them. Of course it was totally possible that Julie may have raised a sceptical eyebrow at this, and to be honest I think she restrained herself. (I liked her even more than I did already for that.) As obviously it’s more than likely that I appear utterly delusional when explaining all of this, and maybe Julie’s desire to be sympathetic would have been sorely tested and strained if it wasn’t for the email address which had been pressed into my hand. The surprise at that news was impossible for her to hide, but it was a pleased surprise. Even though this is beyond Julie’s realm of experience, even though the tendency of any normal person would be to view me as ‘weird’ or ‘mad’, she can perhaps see a glimmer that there might be something more – something which needs to be followed – in what I’m saying.
We held each other close at the end and kissed softly. Julie promised again to be with me throughout all of this. I don’t know if we’re just really affectionate friends now, or whether we’ll become lovers, but I’m just glad I have her at my side.

Sunday, 22nd of April

After Elvina’s concert last night (where, for a change, she wore the black version of her outfit, with a larger collar made of red satin), one of the bouncers approached me and pressed a note into my hand. I’ll admit I had a moment of panic as this bald, shaven head directed his attention towards me, wondering if this was the moment I’d be ushered outside, banished for harassment. Instead I found this piece of paper in my palm and written on it was an email address for a girl named Denise – I can only assume it’s Elvina’s real name.
I emailed her as soon as I got home:

“Hi!
Thanks for the note. Have you read my blog then? Did you understand it? If so, can we talk?”

There’s no reply as yet.

Saturday, 21st of April

Another dream last night where I see the world ‘afterwards’. That’s the only way I can explain it – whatever cataclysmic event occurs, this is the consequence.
In these dreams it seems to be perpetually dusk, as if a smog has descended determined to choke those few remaining members of humanity. There’s no way I can be sure but I think I’m in London, although a version that seems to have been beaten and destroyed.  I can see myself walking down a road – no, ‘walking’ isn’t right, ‘skulking’ would be a far better word. My movements are furtive, like a rat’s, trying not to be seen or heard. Suddenly ahead, coming faintly on the breeze, are sounds. It’s impossible to tell what these sounds are – no way to know whether they’re human or animal – but my instinct for self preservation is now so high, I take no chances. Rodent-like I back away into the darkness and with every nerve jangling crouch down and wait for these sounds to drift away. I'll wait until I feel safe again, then I’ll re-reconnoitre my route and hopefully continue my journey.

How does all this fit into the puzzle?

Wednesday, 18th of April

I met with Julie last night – for the first time since we broke up and she charged away from me in a taxi down Shaftesbury Avenue. As you can imagine I was nervous as hell, wondering what on earth the evening was going to bring. All day long I steeled myself for a drink hurled into my face, or a ruthless pulling apart of my personality. Mid afternoon I went and sat in the toilet cubicle and tried to work out how bad it could possibly be, and then readied myself for that eventuality. In short, I was terrified.
We met in The Sherlock Holmes on Northumberland Avenue, and one thing I didn’t expect was that she would be there early. I walked in and there she sat, just inside the door, by the window. On the table in front of her was a vodka and coke, which she had consumed half of already. She looked good, dressed in a long black dress with an understandably pensive look on her face. When she saw me though, she did smile as best she could. Only hesitating for a second, I gave her a kiss on the cheek and hurried up to get a drink.

I couldn’t conceive that there was any way I’d have a long time to say my piece, so I spoke quickly. For the first time I told her properly about my dreams, about the incredible visions I have inside my head; explaining that on a regular basis I see the world destroyed, and have to find out what’s going on. I could feel myself talking fast, as I was so excited and desperate to get it all out – but as calmly as I could manage I told her that I’d somehow boxed myself into a corner where I wasn’t telling her what was happening, what the concerns of my mind were. That’s the reason I broke up with her, there wasn’t anything else at all.

And when I looked at her again she was crying.

Surprised I almost blurted out: “Are you okay?” But I noticed in between her tears, a smile.

“Oh,” she said, “you stupid man! You could have told me this at any point. I’ll always be there for you. Please don’t shut me out again. I’m here for you. I’m always here for you.”

I held her hand back. “I’ve missed you,”

“I’ve missed you too.”

As we couldn’t hope the hold the serious pitch all evening long, from then on the conversation got lighter. We caught up with each other and all the latest news in our lives. All the time holding hands across the table, our fingers twisted in tight together.

And, incredibly, at the end we kissed. Outside the pub we walked without touching, just our shoulders brushing for a moment or two. I didn’t know what was going to happen, whether anything was going to happen at all – but when we turned to face each other it felt right. It was a soft kiss, a gentle kiss – dare I say it – a loving kiss. We didn’t snog, we didn’t grope. We just passed how much we cared about each other across in a simple brush of the lips. There was no official confirmation, but I think I might be able to count her as my girlfriend again. I want to certainly.

We’re meeting up again Sunday.

Tuesday, 17th of April

The Oxford Street dream again last night.
I’m stood about a hundred yards down from Oxford Circus – wearing only my dressing gown – when suddenly there’s this terrifying roar. It’s not an animal sound, but ‘roar’ is still the only word I can think of that really covers it. It’s a noise that seems to rumble its way from beneath the ground, shuddering the pavement and all the store fronts with a dreadful combination of an explosion and a growl. Then there’s a huge gust of wind, all the air being sucked away from us. More than that, it’s like all gravity has been pulled away. Myself and everyone else is hoisted from our feet, before being dropped roughly back to the ground.

My elbows smash into the asphalt as I land, but I try to gather my wits together quickly. Staggering to my feet I look around and see the bloke who’s my companion in this dream every single time. A man on crutches who has been hobbling up Oxford Street with a bright orange cast around his leg. Now he lies sprawled and screaming on the road. I charge towards him, wanting to speak to him, to find out what he has to say. Perhaps I want to see whether we have this dream together, if he is similarly conscious of having the same vision again and again.

On stumbling legs and a still shaking pavement, I make my way towards him. But just when I’m close enough to open my mouth, another roar comes – louder and more dreadful than the first – and it’s as if we’ve both vanished from existence.

Monday, 16th of April

And so today, after six months – periods of which I have felt truly desperate inside - I ended my therapy with Louise.
I think she was surprised at how calmly and succinctly I ended it. But then I think she was surprised at how confidently I walked into her room, sporting my new found aura of control. Hurriedly – as she could see my determination not to have a full session – she reached for my file and asked me about some of the problems I’ve had in the last months. The first thing she raised were my dreams, and I told her that I was calmer about those. Flicking through the pages she asked how I now felt about Alison, I said that she had gone but I was over it now. What about Julie? We’re still in touch, I told her, so we’ll have to see what happens there.

Louse stared up from her file clearly a little lost. I think she thought I was the kind of patient who would be there for twenty years, that I’d be around to fund her pension. And now I was walking those years of potential treatment out of the door.

I didn’t want to stay long as I knew that if she enquired, it wouldn’t take much pressing for me to tell her that the good feeling came from my realisation that what’s happening inside my head is a puzzle and I have to solve it. Of course she wouldn’t see that as rational. And I knew that when the questions came, the therapy session wouldn’t stop where I wanted it to - but instead go on as she made sure I appreciated all her concerns. So even though she was still burrowing through her notes of our sessions, I smiled her a big grin and stood up purposefully.

She had been a great help to me, I told her, and I greatly appreciated it. Then I shook her hand and left her room for good.

Whatever is going on in my head cannot be solved by simple therapy, it is something much bigger than that and a challenge I must face in my own way.

Sunday, 15th of April

Clerkenwell again last night, to see Elvina. Truly it’s hard to believe that it was this year I saw her for the first time. It feels like she’s been in my life for so long – I dream about her for god’s sake – that it’s difficult to conceive that if it wasn’t for a mate’s birthday party this January, I’d never have seen her at all.
She moves languidly and confidently onto the small stage; her hair shaped to a quiff, her lip curled up and sexiness sparkling in her eyes. Hers is the Elvis outfit by way of Victoria’s Secret. It’s white and rhinestoned, but she doesn’t wear flares, instead she shows herself off in hot-pants. On display is a pair of long, supple and toned thighs in sheer tights, leading up to a gorgeous, round behind. When she sticks out her bum it really is a thing of wonder. Around her midriff is a belt buckle with ‘TCB’ carved elegantly in gold, while stretching out above it is the Vegas large collar. Like Elvis’s version, this garment is low cut down the chest. Unlike Elvis’s version, what the audience is treated to is a magnificent, milky cleavage. It’s a phenomenal get up, and you can always tell those who’ve never seen her before. Their eyes bulge so far from their heads it’s like their having a coronary.

So Elvina is sexy, but also fantastically beautiful – her sharp cheekbones, pouting lips and wide brown eyes making her the most feminine and pretty Elvis.

Her appearance is stunning enough, but then she performs.

Last night she seemed determined to make the hearts of everyone there pump faster and faster. She started off slowly with ‘Always on My Mind’, purring out the song as she moved with tantalising precision across the stage, stretching herself into various incredibly sexy poses that she held for an almost indecent amount of time. The ballads came first, then the mid paced numbers ('The Wonder of You'; 'Heartbreak Hotel') where she claimed the front of the stage and took control – standing with her feet slightly apart and her head held high in such a powerful pose. She belted out the tunes seemingly knowing that she was the most important person in the room, the most important person in London. Then she got really fast and danced around the stage in a way I haven’t really seen before. ‘King Creole’ and ‘Viva Las Vegas’ boomed out with her legs kicking and her breasts jiggling. It was a phenomenal show, and at the end the crowd had to stop drooling to remember to clap.

I think it was the best performance I’ve ever seen her give. Strangely though the place wasn’t as busy as last week, and after the set she cut her way through the crowd back to her dressing room – a bouncer just at her shoulder to make sure that no pinching fingers reached out for her.

Adrenalin pumped through me as I knew I only had seconds, but I stood in front of her.

“Elvina,” I called.

She looked at me, her fact flat, not wanting to encourage any lunatic.

I talked quickly. “Hi. I’ve seen your show.”

“I know,” her eyebrow raised. Was that because she’s seen me in the crowd before, or just because I’m in the venue just after she’s just come off stage? Obviously the latter, of course she knows I’ve seen her show.

The seconds were ticking but I tried not to garble my words. “Do you ever Google yourself?”

The eyebrow raised again.

“You should do,” I told her. “Put in your name and ‘Clerkenwell’ and look at the blogs. Let me know what you think, I’m here a lot of Saturdays.”

And with that I let her go. She walked determinedly away without looking back. Clearly she thinks I’m odd, but if she reads this blog – and she understands it – then maybe, Elvina, we can have a conversation.

Saturday, 14th of April - addendum

I didn’t call her, but I did text Julie and apologised again for our last evening together and asked her how she was. It took her well over a day to reply, but finally she did – a quick text, just telling me that she was fine. She ended her message with the question mark of how I was (perhaps just to be polite, I don’t know). I’ve responded by telling her I’m okay, but wondering whether she’d like to have a coffee, just to chat. I’ve had nothing back yet. I don’t know if she’ll go for it or not.

Saturday, 14th of April

There was a brief moment of paranoia yesterday that Friday the 13^th was going to prove terminally unlucky. That for whatever reason it was the day on which everything I see in my head would turn to reality. I don’t know why I felt that (or why I felt it with such certainty over the course of the day) as I’m not generally superstitious, but yesterday it did seem as if doom was in the air.
Maybe it was the dream I had the night before. This was a new dream. I was stood by myself, in a void seemingly, and in front of me was an atom. I know it’s completely impossible to see an atom with the naked eye, but there it was was – infinitesimally small, though magnificently visible. It seemed to happen slowly, yet also incredibly fast; but I watched the atom fall under pressure, the cracks showing ever more clearly on its side, then – spectacularly – it split open. The next moment I was gone, suffused by a wave of energy.

I woke up clutching my sheets in my fists, having almost torn them away from the mattress. My sweat stung against my skin.

Thursday, 12th of April

A most gratifying review of my novel by the kind people at Spinetinglers: 

"Tell me about your devil..."

Hell's Secrets - Spinetinglers Review

Mark Anthony hates his life. He hates his job, he’s not overly keen on his flat and he’s not even sure he likes his friends anymore. Then out of the blue he receives an email that changes everything.

It sounds simple enough – all he has to do is take credit for a book that someone else has written. The only fly in the ointment is that the book was actually written by Giles White, a somewhat strange individual Mark knew from university. The two had a tense acquaintanceship in those days, which had ended with Giles spitting in Mark’s face and taking off into the night. Surely there had to be an ulterior motive for such an offer? Why, of all the people, in all world, did Giles want Mark to get the glory for his work?

Despite his better judgement Mark agrees to Giles’ offer and takes on the identity of M.J Anthony, author of Hell’s Secrets. To begin with everything goes swimmingly, the book is a massive hit, he bags himself a new girlfriend and he has movie producers practically beating down his door to buy the rights to his bestseller. And then the shit rather spectacularly hits the fan, as Mark’s life, and the lives of those closest to him begin to spiral out of control…

Hell’s Secrets had me hooked right from the get-go. The chapters are short and snappy, which is perfect for the tale being told, and helps to create the uneasy tension which is woven so brilliantly throughout the story. Giles White is so fabulously creepy that you can’t wait to get to bottom of what is driving him, and you can’t help but feel sorry for Mark, who seems to be descending further and further into madness with the turn of every page.

Hell’s Secrets is another wonderful offering from F.R Jameson, which firmly cements him as one of horror’s most exciting authors.

I’m of course very happy with that, and I feel like it could be the start of a good period for me.

Wednesay, 11th of April

I have to more closely examine what’s happening in my dreams. That’s why I’m trying to change things in them, that’s why I’m running towards the explosions now. I want to see what happens when I get there (if I get there) and through that find out what all these visions mean. Maybe it’s as simple as working out on a personal level why I am having these dreams, what’s going on inside my head. Although the suspicion remains that these dreams are related to the wider world. I am getting more and more convinced that this is not just about what’s happening inside my skull, but instead has a much wider impact. What is that? What does it mean?
For a long stretch this year I felt like I was lost, but now I have a mission.

And okay, each evening I do come home and feel lonely. It’s not good when the main things you think about in your life are you dreams and your blog. I was considering today that maybe I should ask Julie out for a coffee, apologise to her – is that a good idea?

Tuesday, 10th of April

Last night I had the dream where I was stood on my street. It’s a cold day (is the temperature something I’ve only started noticing in these dreams, or was it there before? We are heading into summer in the UK – or what passes as summer – so is the temperature in anyway significant?) and I feel the wind licking my skin. Before I can remember being naked in this dream – but now I look down and see I am in shorts and T-shirt. I'm almost dressed for a run.

This dream has burnt through my mind so many times now, that I know exactly which part of the sky the fireball will trail across. I am forearmed and ready. Slowly at first but rapidly picking up speed, I start to run to where that fireball should land. The streets are eerily quiet – I am the only person anywhere on the streets of South London, and running with a wild sense of purpose makes me seem doubly out of place.

I run fast, scarper, getting to the main road in Surrey Quays and pointing myself in the direction of The City. The Gherkin is ahead. But no matter how fast I go, I am not fast enough. Suddenly the sky is ripped apart by that familiar red streak – I see it nearer than it’s ever been before – then there’s a boom and everything vanishes around me.

Monday, 9th of April

So what about religion? Is that something which, on this of all weekends, could help me? No, I don’t think so. Both my parents are fundamentalist atheists, and so the way I was raised precludes me from reaching for the church. I just don’t see the appeal of it, I don’t see the reality of it. So even in this moment of crisis, I can’t fall back on it. Besides there is nothing in these dreams that makes me think of The Bible – even The Old Testament or apocalyptic Revelations stuff. No this is something different.
The more I think about it, the more I believe these dreams are a puzzle to be solved. I am dreaming of the world ending in so many different ways: meteors from the sky; nuclear explosions; creatures from beneath; a rampaging madness that tears apart humanity itself. I see an after world that is cold and dark, but there are survivors – so how does that relate to my other dreams? In those visions of destruction it all looks so final (certainly for me, I seem to be at the centre of all of them), so how could I – and other people as well – manage to survive?

No these dreams can’t all be literal, they can’t be straight premonitions. They are telling something else and I just have to work out what that is.

Sunday, 8th of April

To Clerkenwell to see Elvina last night. (What else did anyone expect me to do when in London by myself on a Saturday?)  I thought it might be quiet with the Bank Holiday and so many people being out of the city, but instead it was packed. Lots of eager eyed blokes who were already paid up members of her fan club, or had heard about her and were desperate to see what all the fuss was about. She didn’t disappoint, slinking onto stage, making sure everyone lingered over the length of her legs, the plump roundness of her bust and the lasciviousness of her pout. She was a cartoon cheesecake pin-up, surrounded by a pack of salivating wolves and loving every second. Through the show she blew kisses to the crowd, winked at us and treated us to some banter about how when she got out of her tight clothes, it was hard for her to put anything on again for awhile (you can imagine the reaction she got from that).
I was too far back to make any real connection, or for her to see me. As much as I enjoyed her show that was a shame as last night I felt like I could have spoken to her. When she comes off stage for a break she sometimes makes her way to the bar, and I thought I could have lurched over and just introduced myself. Told her I was a big fan and that I sometimes wrote about her, just to see what she said, how she reacted, whether she did know me. I didn’t care last night, I was feeling like I did when that mugger held a knife to my throat in January and I refused to give any money – I just didn’t worry about the consequences. The throng was too wound up though for her safely make her way through, but I’ll be back. I felt confident last night and I feel confident today. The thought has struck that the things inside my head are like a puzzle and it’s up to me to solve them. And I can solve them.

Saturday, 7th of April

The Surrey Quays dream last night. There I am again, standing outside of the shopping centre – the car park and various happy consumers in front of me – and I’m feeling that something below is about to rise up. There is a power beneath my feet, a force so incredible and endlessly malignant.  I don’t know what it is, but it’s there and moving horrifyingly to the surface. It is not an earthquake I am sensing. An earthquake (not that we ever have them in Britain anyway) is something natural, an event which happens in life. They are hardly benign, of course, but they don’t come with a sense of evil. Whatever this thing is there’s definite malice wrapped around it, like some Lovecroftian monster stirring from a long hibernation.
I felt cold in the dream last night, so very cold. Is that my fear manifesting itself, or does this things arrival herald a new coldness?

That lady with the baby is in front of me again in the dream. I see her each time. I’m sure I’ve also now seen her in real life. Did I dream about her before I saw her, or did I just insert her into my dream? I stare at her and try to work out whether she is cold, whether she can feel the same thing I can. It all happens so quickly, but I think that just before the ground cracks she pulls her jacket tighter to her neck and holds the baby closer. Maybe she feels this dreadful presence as well. Perhaps I am not alone.

Friday, 6th of April

No response from Julie.

No word from Alison yet either.

Maybe I should have used this Good Friday to go and see my family, get out of London and take a break. Instead I decided to stay here with all the thoughts and madness in my head. Yes it will keep me company, but it’s hardly ideal. The thing is I have no real plan for this Bank Holiday weekend in London, so at the moment I’m just going to drift through Easter.

Things I can possibly do:

1.      Call up one of my friends. I haven’t seen them that much over the last few weeks, (but that’s par of the course in a new relationship). This will be a good chance to see if anyone is about for a catch up.

2.      Go and see one of the various exhibitions around town – I hear Hockney is good.

3.      Buy myself a big fucking Easter egg for Sunday, be truly decadent.

4.      Go and see Elvina in Clerkenwell. Gaze at her in the spotlight as she does her stuff. I’m dreaming of her regularly now and would love to speak to her – but how weird would that be? I’m aware that I can’t approach her to tell her how great she looks in my dreams. I might as well just start openly masturbating in front of her.

I don’t know what I’m going to do, but still I haven’t put on my list:

5.       Go and see my family in South Wales. The trains are running – why don’t I?

The answer is, even if I am going to be bored and lonely, I don’t want to leave London, I just feel I have to be here.

Thursday, 5th of April

I’ve received a very positive review of my novel from the nice people at Spinetinglers (which I will post here when it’s published). At the moment it’s one of the few things in my life that I’m feeling positive about. There’s something odd in that as it’s a novel about the publication of a book which looks to be the central character’s salvation. But of course, that salvation proves ephemeral.

Maybe I shouldn’t rely solely on my novel’s existence for good feeling.

But please do buy a copy.

Wednesday, 4th of April

I was stood in The City again last night, rooted to the spot as all those hundreds of people raced towards me. It’s an odd sensation when they charge in my direction because undoubtedly I’m scared, but I also have an incredible and exhilarating feeling of calm. My heart is racing in my chest, yet I still feel so relaxed about what’s happening, open to whatever is going to take place. The thoughts race through my mind that I’m going to be trampled, ripped apart – sharp little fingernails tearing into my flesh and scattering my muscles from my bones. And yet even though these thoughts are there, even though they are absolutely terrifying – I am not bothered by them. Last night – like most nights before when I have this dream – I stand rooted to the spot with these thoughts muted, a pacific air having taken over me completely.
But last night I looked at the crowd and the first person I saw was Julie. Fury had twisted her face so that all prettiness had been ripped from it. The panic finally rose up inside me just as she slashed across my eyes.

Tuesday, 3rd of April

No response yet from Julie, but I did get a text from bloody Alison.
“I’m sorry to hear the news,” it said, “hope you’re bearing up. Alison. x”

How the bloody hell could she know? What is going on? My first impulse was to get in touch with Julie and find out who she had told and then work my way to Alison through that route, but I can’t help thinking that the subject of Alison is going to be a raw one between Julie and I at the moment (if and when we do speak again), so I can’t do that. But what else can it be?

Is she reading this blog?

Alison, if you’re out there, let me know.

Monday, 2nd of April

Well I can’t say it was my most productive session with Louise. Of course I told her my news straight off, almost blurted it out in fact – but then had to justify it. For much the same reason as I couldn’t adequately explain to Julie why I couldn’t see her anymore, so I couldn’t explain to Louise. I’ve not told either of them – these women I speak to more than any others – what has been going on in my head. So scared have I been of their disapproval, so annoyed that they didn’t understand and seemingly made no effort to understand, that I have blanked them both out of the important issues that bother my thoughts.
It of course begs the question, what the fuck is wrong with me? Why do I simply sit down and type into this blog, why don’t I reach out to anyone else around me? There are people who care for me (as well as the one person who is paid to care for me) – friends, family and a lover. Why do I persist on shutting them all out? Why do I instead sit here and type by myself, creating a monument to my madness?

So it wasn’t a happy encounter with Louise, and she clearly thought that when I couldn’t justify it that I should maybe reconsider my decision. That’s what she suggested.

I didn’t go that far, though I did text Julie and tell her once again I was sorry. So far I have had no reply.

Sunday, 1st of April

Well I broke up with Julie last night. It was a terrible and teary encounter in the corner of a Dutch Bar in the West End. She wanted to know why (of course she wanted to know why) and the worst thing of it was that I couldn’t really explain why. The simple truth is that because I’ve been shielding so many things that have gone on in my head from her, there was just no way I could adequately explain what I was feeling. To truly tell her I would have to rewrite everything that had gone on in the last couple of months – the last couple of, in the main, really happy months – to make her understand the madness inside my skull. As such I failed to give her anything near a decent explanation, and left her with the impression that I just wasn’t over Alison. That the reason it wasn’t fair for me to see her anymore was that thoughts of Alison were still too much in my mind. And maybe to a certain extent that’s true, but not in the way she imagined it. She just thought I was a shit who had been in love, and then led her on knowing I was still in love. But it isn’t like that at all, but there was no way to tell her what it really was.
Even more horrible was the fact that she ran off, she couldn’t bear to be with me anymore. She excused herself to the toilet, and I looked up and saw her charge to the exit of the pub. By the time I got near her again, she’d got in a taxi and was sailing away.

On the way home there were tears in my eyes as well. All I could think of was how happy we were at the start, how well suited. I loved that she made me feel so calm, so relaxed with her – she got me out of my head. But the problems were only shelved, they were never properly put away and so I was unable to ignore them forever. Really I should have confided in her more, made her understand – that’s why I was a shit, because she was my girlfriend and I couldn’t find a way to be truly honest with her.

I have problems clearly, many deep problems.

But she’s right. I’m also a shit.

Saturday, 31st of March - addendum

I’ve spent the last two nights in my house and I think Julie is starting to pick up that there is a growing distance between us. I’m seeing her tonight for drinks in Chinatown (we’re meeting in De Hems). I don’t know how it’s going to go.

Saturday, 31st of March

Last night I dreamed I was stood in the park again, looking at Elvina perform up there on the stage. She seems bigger in my dream; not to say that she’s plump or overweight, but more as if her entire stature has grown. I’m looking at her over people’s heads, a huge distance away, yet I can see every inch of her so clearly – as if she’s thirty foot tall and towering over all of us.
It’s definitely Alison with me, I’m stood with my arms around her waist and am nuzzling her neck. I look up and to the left of me are my mum and dad, with my sister as well. To the right are various friends of mine. We’re all together, all waiting – like one of those cults that lives to greet the apocalypse.

And when that comes we are all smiling.

Thursday, 29th of March

When I was first with Julie, I didn’t have dreams in her bed. Those nights  I was between her pink and scented duvet, within her oddly girly room (it's a bit incongruous to her personality actually), it seemed like there was some magic power warding my dreams off.
That doesn’t seem to be the case now.

Now I wake up in the small hours covered in sweat as frequently as if I was in my own bed. Fortunately Julie is a sound sleeper, and so there’s no need for me to try and explain it to her while in a scared, emotional and irrational state of mind. In the morning she does wonder why I’m so sleepy, but I’m able to shrug her away (I’m never great in the mornings). As long as I don’t lash out in my sleep I’ll be fine, but never mentioning what’s going on is starting to get me down.

Wednesday, 28th of March

I find myself missing Alison. Not because I dream about her a lot, but because in her disappearance and subsequent messages (as well as what might have been her brief reappearance in Hungary) I feel that she’s somehow a lot more connected with me now. I think if I was to sit down and talk to her about my dreams and what I’m thinking, then Alison would understand. It’s like she’s part of it, as if we’re on the same wavelength. (I know that’s not how I necessarily felt about her during our brief relationship, but it’s a sensation I can’t shake now). I know I have Julie, a new girlfriend, but she doesn’t understand and so I don’t try talking to her about it anymore. If I’m honest I think it’s causing a bit of distance between us.
I have all these thoughts and visions in my mind and no one to share them with – apart from perhaps my ex girlfriend (who has vanished) and maybe a female Elvis impersonator in North London.

Jesus! When I put it like that I see that, I really am fucking insane.

Tuesday, 27th of March

In my dreams, when a mushroom cloud appears at the distance – is a nuclear bomb really what I’m seeing? Is it war? Are the Russians, or the Iranians (or even – special relationship gone forever – the Americans) launching strikes against us? Am I witnessing the annihilation of the world as we know it?
Or is it something else? I read once that a nuclear explosion is actually only one percent of the potential energy of the bomb which creates it. Human beings, simple race that we are, don’t yet know how to tap into the full energy in the world around us. Indeed, if we could, there is so much energy untapped within our own bodies that we have the potential to blow up like nuclear bombs ourselves if we could harness it.

So what if the thing I’m seeing is new, not a bomb at all – a development far scarier and more powerful? What if the thing which brings the end of the world is something we only discovered how to do the day before?

Monday, 26th of March

Things I should try to improve this year:
1. My love life (although that seems to be going well, fingers crossed)
2. My book sales (well, I am trying).
3. My job.

I think Louise sees that last one as the root of all my problems – my general malaise in the world of work intruding into the rest of my life (and my dreams). But I’m not sure I buy her thesis, as I’m not overly ambitious career wise and happy to plod along. My job is something I do, not something I am. I did try to explain this to her tonight, but I think I failed. After all, I have told her I’m unhappy there and so one can’t blame her if she thinks I shouldn’t put up with unhappiness.

What else could I possibly do though? I’ve been in this job years now and still have no idea what else I could try.