….my dream reader was sitting in his usual armchair, right leg over left, usual grey cashmere jumper draped around his tartan checked shoulders. He looked up, peeping over his semi-circle glasses and said:
‘Well well well, who’s this then? Ah, yes, my regular Tuesday 11 o’clock appointment.’
Closing the door behind me I made my way over to the armchair opposite him – an exact replica, except for the buttock indentations, of his – and slumped down, not yet ready to reveal. We sat in silence for what felt like an age, I twiddled my thumbs and he just sat.
‘So,’ I said, ‘they keep getting worse. I thought these sessions were to make them get better. That’s what you told me; that’s what you said. I’m angry with you….’
Silence (there was always a period of silence after I spoke, because he had to be sure that I’d finished). Sigh. Throat clear.
‘I can tell that you’re angry, and I’m proud of you for sharing. This shows how far we’ve come. So, now down to business. Let’s work together this time, and see if we can read those dreams.’