ben's nightmares

• I'm standing in the corner of a field with a load of people I don't know. The field is bounded by a crumbling stone wall, punctuated with simple wooden gates. It's summer; the grass is green, the sun is out, and WWII German fighter bombers are circling overhead. We are sheltered from view beneath the trees, but we need to get to the other side of the field; so we sprint desperately to the opposite corner whilst the German aircraft drop bombs which erupt into billowing clouds of deadly yellowish smoke. Those of us that make it to the other side then have to run back again. And so on.
• I'm at some sort of adventure holiday camp at the top of a snowy mountain. I'm supposed to be going to do some climbing or something with one of the instructors, but when we step outside men with balaclavas and submachine guns appear. The instructor steps in front of me when they open fire, but the bullets go through her and into me. We're each left with four gunshot wounds to the gut, and I have the bullets stuck in me. I'm not too panicked, because I remember from Reservoir Dogs that it takes a long time to die from a gut wound. After about ten minutes there's still no ambulance, so one of the other guys from the camp drives us down the mountain in his car. It's a flimsy black hatchback; a bit like an old 80's Fiat Panda, but more crappy. The seats have all been replaced with those flappy plastic chairs that you sometimes get at bus stops. On the way to the hospital, the driver stops off at a remote pub. He collects a fruit machine, but it won't fit in the car. I'm wondering why we aren't getting to a doctor.
• There's a shopping mall. It's in the middle of a rolling green landscape, and is shaped like a UFO; a gleaming white lozenge on stilts, with tiny windows and a set of escalators leading up into its belly. Inside, it is more reminiscent of The Wellington Centre in Aldershot. There is lots of beige vinyl. At the far end of the mall is a little toy shop. It sells loads of the old Warhammer 40,000 figures from the early nineties. I'm buying Harlequins. With power fists.
• I'm in my parent's house. It's nighttime. I'm looking out of their bedroom window, but the view is different to how I remember; instead of trees and houses and gardens, there's nothing but a devastated cityscape. Fires burn in the shells of ruined buildings. Overhead, a fleet of zeppelins with swastikas on their rudders are divebombing the city.
• I'm in a ye olde lecture theatre. I've just finished giving a lecture to a bunch of college kids. They seem dismissive. As everyone leaves, I take off my shoes so I can change into my boots; but one of them is missing. Someone's stolen it. I decide to put my shoes back on. Someone's stolen one of them too.
• I'm in a motorway service station, but it doesn't look anything like a motorway service station. Other people I know are there. The atmosphere is awkward. They sell mice in the service station. All the cages of mice are piled on top of one another. One of the mice escapes. The motorway service station also has a dance floor; it is governed by a single bouncer who is slim, wears a black suit and has a little beard. He leads me out through a long corridor, and tells me that I'm drunk and can't come in.