Anyway, in the dream I was going to Glastonbury in my car, on my own, and at first I couldn't work out where to park, and once I had parked I knew I had to go and find a place to pitch the tent because addedentry was relying on me to do that before he arrived, so I dragged my rucksack around looking for somewhere (my rucksack was soon covered in dirt, and I remember thinking something to the effect of "I'm sure it didn't get that dirty last time ... or maybe it did and it washed off easily, and it'll do the same this time") but couldn't see any tents, and then couldn't work out how to get back to my car. I wandered around through a frankly absurd landscape of which all I can remember are huge chess pieces, a castle, and a giant badger (and I resolved to remember where the giant badger was so that I could show it to O. and say "See, this is the sort of thing that makes me think Glastonbury is so cool!") and eventually bumped into someone I knew -- a girl called Liz who used to live next door to my best friend back home. I'd wanted to ask someone how to get back to my car, but I never really liked Liz, so I was reluctant to ask her for help because I knew I would then have to feel indebted to her in some way. I think she did help me in the end; I ended up back in my car, driving along a narrow and bumpy path across a field, with loads of cyclists going in the opposite direction and glaring at me; but there were chevrons cut into the grass pointing in the way I was going, so I knew I was going the right way. Later in the dream I was back in the main festival area, full of market stalls and suchlike, sitting on a wall with claerwen and some other LiveJournallers whose names I hadn't quite caught, listening to somebody singing Beth Nielsen Chapman's "I Find Your Love". I woke up to Wogan not long after that, so I suspect the song was played on R2 while I was still asleep and just wormed its way into my dream. In fact, the R2 playlist confirms my suspicion.
So long as my dreams have badgers in, though, really, I'm happy. People sometimes ask me if I get bored of people giving me badgers, showing me pictures of badgers, emailing me links to every news story about badgers. Believe it or not, the answer is "NO!" A picture of a badger will always make me smile. Even this picture from a lame poster campaign momentarily gave me the feel-good factor. I'm seriously considering wandering over to the Cotswolds just to visit a tearoom with badgers in the name. The merest sniff of a stripy-faced member of the family mustelidae can lift my heart a little. They're just so damn cute.
And to be honest, my heart could do with a bit of lifting at the moment: LiveJournal hasn't been the cheeriest place to be lately. Not even any really exciting memes, though I like what keirf did with the age meme. Apropos of memes, or rather LiveJournal's own peculiar brand of misnomemes, I don't think I ever got round to telling anybody that my inner gay man was David Bowie. (Thanks to minkboylove, who thinks too much about quizzes sometimes, for that one.) It's funny how the things that get passed around are always lame, while laugh-out-loud things like Michael Kelly's lateral thinking questions (thanks, kennedybak!) mostly get passed over .
It gets worse, though: earlier this week it looked as though Dark Side of the Moon was going to be voted the Best Album Ever, though this potential disaster seems to have been temporarily averted. (Though who knows what new horrors the vote for Best Single Ever will throw up?) Meanwhile, all-wimmin community theladiesloos is going through the teething problems that all new internet communities face; it's currently at the "You stole my safe space" stage, where people realise that they actually have to at least pretend to play nicely with people they don't actually like. (On the positive side, though, all-blerk equivalent thecompanyofmen proves that boys really can open up and talk honestly about sex, which is truly heartwarming to see.) Not all men are so relaxed, though: I've been enjoying a bizarre bitchfight with a random stranger in the nether commenting regions of barrysarll's LiveJournal; the which shenanigans have, if nothing else, provided me with the best retort ever: "Now who is the one who knows nothing of which they speak?" (Guys, if you put your playground comebacks through the "talk like a grown-up" filter, you have to proof-read them first or else you end up sounding like a prick.)
Tediously, the whole palaver was an indirect result of the increasingly silly news coverage about Prince Harry's latest gaffe. It may be boring to say that this news story is boring, but I can't help it: it is every bit as boring as I am now meta-boring for talking about it. (Now, if it was Wills, rather than Harry, it would be a different matter: the former Most Desirable Man in Scotland would look positively sizzling in sexy SS gear.)
Predictably, there have already been calls from the baying hordes of peons for fancy dress shops to be banned from selling even the sort of tacky pseudo-Nazi regalia sported by the Party Prince; less predictably, a search on eBay for "Nazi uniform" throws up only a copy of the edition of the Sun containing this non-story, and a predictable overpriced leather trenchcoat given a false frisson of interest by the addition of the words "GOTH NAZI" in the subject line. Surely you can buy anything on eBay? Still, I can't really complain about the internet's biggest jumble sale, when a pair of purple DMs bought for £7 in a charity shop have just fetched me £16, and a copy of the guitar music for "Disintegration" (bought for a fiver in a sale) netted an unbelievable £21. Now that's cheering.