Slumber Stories

Date: Two weeks ago

I met Shakespeare at his house. No introduction, no journey beforehand; I was just there. The only light I could see was from outside so it was really dim. His interior had a lot of dark colours. A lot of maroons..

Shakespeare’s nice. He speaks softly too. The calm and collective kind of guy who listens and comments and chuckles now and then.

But the weirdest (and this is hard to admit) thing was that we were discussing sonnets…….

Not weird for him, but me. I’m bad at poetry so why would I be having an intellectual discourse with a guy who is really good at it? AND I sounded really smart (emphasis on the word ’sounded’).

I’m still dumbfounded at the ridiculousness of it all.

Me. Discuss sonnets.

Hello. ”Just Dance” is poetry to me.

I rest my case.

Date: Last week (between 13th - 19th Oct 08)

Ok, it was an image of a front page of a newspaper. The headlines sounded something like “Game ends in terror”. There were pictures of footballers running frantically. When I read the article, it turns out that Liverpool was playing a home game but the roof of the stadium started to collapse so everyone had to run and the game had to stop.