When we land in Spain a giant bull like something peeled off a Celtic shield kicks up out of the earth and swings it tremendous horns, scything them through skyscrapers. The captain of the plane turns to me in that airport and tells me that 'they' have something planned for the 'Thunder Glider' (the name of our plane, apparently). I sit down at a table with a bored family of arseholes who all have dyed red hair and are bickering with each other. I leave them and sit between two strangers in a row of that weird jointed plastic seating, who turn out to be affectionate toward me.
REMARKS: This was a really swirling, involved dream packed with twice as many elements as I can think to name here. The 'flat' archetypes come from a Nepalese chest I bought the other day covered in repoussé bronze animals. The easter egg? Maybe... looking at the leftover xmas chocolates at the supermarket? The doom aspect is probably from my reading of the Chinese year of the Horse being especially bad for Rats (we're both Rats, but if you reverse the Chinese horoscopy thing as you're apparent supposed to do in the southern hemisphere, we're actually horses so what the fuck?) Horoscopes mean jack shit to me beyond their preservation of various chthonic ideas etc. but maybe one part of my brain is more superstitious than the rest.
I have dyed red hair so I was probably sitting down to a table full of myself. Erm... yeah. I hate planes and airports and refuse to fly. Why is my plane called the Thunder Glider?