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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.