In the dream, I'd come up with a new business venture: a series of caves, each with its own distinctive smell. People would pay money to go underground and sniff. I dubbed the activity 'Olfactory Spelunking'.
The dream didn't go into much detail, but I think we can extrapolate. The caves would be dark, and no-one would be allowed to use torches. There would probably be an instructor in each cave with night-vision goggles, for safety. I don't know whether the smells would be piped-in artificially, or if the source of each smell would be right there in the cave.
Some possible cave smells include: manure, bacon, rat-bacon and Lynx Atlantis (which I believe has been discontinued).
I'm quite the entrepreneur when unconscious.
***
I've been watching a lot of films lately. I haven't got much to say about them, so here they are in order of best to worst:
The Conformist
The Raid 2
Wonderwall
Guardians of the Galaxy
The Fisher King
To Catch a Thief
The Seven Year Itch
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Drag Me To Hell
There. That's all the information I'm willing to impart.
Come... at... me... bro...?
***
I wonder if I'll ever hold a press conference. Or even just be a part of one.
Press conferences are usually of two main types: the big announcement and the missing kid.
Neither sounds ideal. I don't like conferences, and I hate the press.
But still, it would be nice to sit behind a long table and answer questions into a dozen microphones. I'd particularly like to mishear a question from the back row and ask them to repeat it.
I obviously wouldn't like to be appealing for information about a missing child. That would be terrible. But I have always wanted to make a direct plea to a kidnapper, and have never had a good reason to do it.
I could announce a series of reunion concerts. That would be much nicer. I'd have to do an initial unioning, though. And wait a few years.
I don't think I'll bother.
That reminds me of this Limmy sketch, which I may well have posted before. Still...
***
I bought a roll with lunch. They do good, fresh rolls at the canteen now. They're good and fresh and soft and round. This one has poppy seeds on it.
But my plate of salad was pretty big, so I saved the roll. I saved it for later. It is now later.
The roll is sitting in a white paper bag on my desk. Next to the bag is a plastic knife and a small sachet of Flora. But not a sachet. Sachets are for sauce.
It's not a packet either. It's one of those little, like, mini-tub things. A solid plastic basin, with a peelable lid. What would you call that? A little individually packaged serving of Flora. You know what I'm talking about.
Not this:
That's wrong. I knew sachet was wrong.
More like this:
10 grams of yellow chemical paste.
And a plastic knife.
I might eat the roll in a bit, with some Flora, spread with a knife.
Anyway, that's all my news.
***
I suppose I could call a press conference to announce my Olfactory Spelunking project.
And I could use the same press conference to appeal for information about the dozens of children lost in the caves during the test phase. They were lured deep into the bowels of the mountain by the child-friendly odours of plastic and Flora.
If only the night-vision goggles had arrived! We asked our safety monitors to squint, but that can only do so much in the pitch blackness.
Please. There's a large reward for any information that may lead to the majority of the children. If you live in the mountain (perhaps you are a troll, or a "subterraniac" of some sort), I implore you to get in touch with my agent. We can meet backstage at one of my reunion shows, preferably Bath on the 19th of next month.
Are there any other questions?
...
I'm sorry, can you repeat that?
Ah, I see. That was just the echo of my initial question.
It was probably a mistake to hold this press conference in a cave.
Does anyone else feel in the mood for bacon?
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