When I was about 10 or 11 I had a recurring dream, that advanced bit by bit each night. I don't normally remember my dreams, but I still remember aspects of these 30 odd years later.
Basically, I was younger by a couple of years, walking through a stone courtyard. I was aware of the sun on my arms, and more details became apparent, like a border collie sleeping head on paws in the shade. I could hear bees buzzing in a bush and I as I made my way to a workshop I could hear a saw working. The workshop had dust in the sunlight and there was a smell of freshly cut wood - I don't think I've ever smelt anything in a dream since - there was a young man, in his twenties standing over a workbench with a saw blade fixed to it.
I didn't feel any fear, I was totally relaxed about this instalment dream until the time the guy turned and was holding his hand, blood was coming through his fingers.
The next morning I told my mum, I got no further than "I keep having the same dream, I am walking through a yard..." and she told me "Oh, you're dreaming about your great grandfather cutting off the tips of his fingers, I used to have the same dream when I was your age."
I never met the man, my grandfather (I assume the dream was from his perspective) never spoke about it, but my mum and I both had the same repetitive dream. I don't remember ever having it again after speaking about it.
Also, I would marry Kirsten Dunst 100 times before looking at Paltrow.
)
