We see Nick Cave give a talk in a small room beneath a record shop. A small crowd, an intimate gathering. At the end he asks if there’s any questions. A couple of people ask this and that, but I’m too shy. I have something for him to sign in my bag – a CD or DVD – but the event ends, Cave leaves and the audience filters out.
We leave the room. Already I’m regretting my failure. We go down some stairs – the kind that comprises many short flights that double back on themselves (there must be a proper term for that). My wife says she’s going somewhere, will be back in a minute. As I wait by the aluminium doors leading out into the street Cave walks in.
He’s clearly in a rush, but I seize my moment.
“Hey, Nick,” I say, “I was at the, er, thing. It was really interesting.”
“Thanks.” He sticks a cigarette into his mouth, heads towards the stairs.
“I’ve got something for you to sign. Would you?” I fumble around in my bag, trying to find the CD/DVD/whatever it is.
“I’d love to but I’m on a fifteen minute break and I’m really pressed for time.”
He’s very polite but is obviously in a rush and slightly flustered. I can’t find the thing for him to sign. Cave climbs the stairs and is gone.
When I wake up I have Stagger Lee going through my head.
Large cars with chrome grilles, men in suits.
Government agents are chasing me because I have murdered someone. (Whether I have actually murdered someone or they just believe I have murdered someone, I don’t know.)
Driving around. Jump off a wall. Slamming doors.
There is a large round object like a flour mill.
We’re living at my parents’ old bungalow. There’s something wrong. Nothing serious – something to do with the house. Meryl Streep calls round in a sort of consultant capacity. She’s very relaxed. She sits in an armchair, crosses her legs and looks around. There is a lot of dust from building work, and many crocheted blankets.
I’m standing on the shore looking inland. The world is grey and lacks detail. A small triangular jet fighter like something from Thunderbirds appears in sky above the hills, heading directly towards me. I watch it pass directly overhead. It is very low, but not very fast. As it flies out over the sea the left wing dips very slightly and it drifts to one side. The pilot corrects and the aircraft drifts back to the right, but then its nose suddenly drops and the machine plunges into the water. There is a brief explosion beneath the surface, then the sea quickly calms. I yell to someone to call the coastguard. I am shocked, a feeling which lingers when I wake.
I’m looking out of an upstairs window at rear of the house.
It’s our house – but it’s not our house, not our road.
I see a large airliner flying very low, skimming the rooftops.
Its undercarriage is down.
It seems to be in trouble.
The plane passes overhead.
I run from the back of the house to the front to watch it.
When I see it again it is upside-down.
It veers from side to side, climbing and descending.
I cry out as it drops further and disappears behind the houses.