If you’re a regular reader of my blog, you’ll know that on occasion I’ll throw you a curve ball. Customarily, any blog claiming to be about Arsenal tends to centre around things that relate to Arsenal. That’s the general idea I guess. However, I’m a weird , weird individual. I have odd habits and particuarly odd dreams.
Today’s entry is about one of those dreams.
I’ve never met Dave Seager in person. I’ve trawled through Gunners Town and his blog on the odd occasion, engaged in a few Twitter conversations, but never conversed in an audible manner. I imagine he’s quite the gentleman of the night, actually – I picture him as a Victorian silk merchant with a penchant for exotic prostitutes and a burdening opium problem. That’s just me, of course. For all we know, Dave is a pleasant family man and would never be seen frequenting dens of iniquity. He may like simple things like dog-walking and creosoting a nice garden fence in the summertime. To make a statement of his alleged outlandish proclivities would be unfair.
Last night, my troubled slumber was an area in which Mr Seager entered. I didn’t invite him, he hadn’t been occupying my mind at all that day. Yet, there he was – a creation of my subconscious eager to wreak havoc and leave a puzzled expression etched onto my face upon waking. The reason I knew it was him was the endless references to Gunners Town.
What started, as best I can recall, as a soirée to watch Arsenal with an unnamed – very beautiful – temptress turned sour when Seager pitched up on the scene and began ruthlessly rummaging through my overnight bag in search of pyjamas. His quest for nightwear was left unexplained. I put it down to his affinity for such things. As any ordinary citizen in similar circumstances would, I gently enquired of his intentions. His reply I recall verbatim:
“I’m Dave Seager. I don’t need to explain. Give my your motherf**king pyjamas or you’re getting striped. RT and share if you like”
At this point, the sultry maiden on my arm beat a hasty retreat. I was never to see her again. I resent Dave Seager immeasurably for this – well, the dream incarnation of Seager and not the actual Seager of reality. Once my pyjamas were in his grasp, he launched himself through a glass window and ran into the darkness howling wildly. That’s as much of the dream as I recall.
As you might imagine, I thought it was bloody strange, and worth sharing with you all. Perhaps there’s a message or a moral to be gleaned here. If one is in London with pyjamas they hold sacred, avoid the known dwellings of Dave Seager. Perhaps, the real message is simple; I shouldn’t eat before bedtime and seek immediate psychological advice. Alternatively, perhaps the marketing campaign of Gunners Town has become so ferocious, they’ve found a way of inhabiting the minds of others, and this has all been a complicated ruse to get them more publicity.
I just don’t know the answer.
What I do know is this: I write blog posts on occasion that get me abused and called out for time wasting. I can’t dispute this harmless poppycock serves little or no purpose other than to fill a few inches of text and amuse myself, but does it warrant abuse?
I’ll leave that for you all to decide in the comments section. You can leave whatever the hell you please in there today. Tell me of your dreams, tell me of your bizarre nightmares. I look forward to reading a few of your thoughts.
Tomorrow, I think I’d better write a review of the big game against Chelsea. Until that time arrives, and as always; thanks for reading, you beautiful bastards.