Last night I had the strangest dream…

Some dreams you can only remember in fragments, they are fleeting and ethereal, disappearing like smoke in the dawn light. Then others are so vivid they are like appearing in a blockbuster movie with 3D glasses on.

Early this morning I had one of the latter dreams. I know it was early morning because I’d drifted back to sleep after an early morning toilet visit! Too much information I know, but when you get to a certain age – hahaha

sunrise or sunset?

In my dream I was in a High Street and I spotted a Marks and Spencers, this was not any ordinary dream but an M and S one.

The entrance didn’t give much headroom, I felt like I had to duck to go in, however did taller people manage to shop there, but the entire front of the store took you down some steps leading you to a spacious basement display.

Much of it didn’t appeal and I walked past, but then I found some live models at the back of the shop wearing some vintage garments that were for sale. Only I didn't know they were live until one moved.

One lady was wearing a burnt orange pinafore dress, with a stripy blouse underneath. The blouse included a large exuberant bow tied at the neck.

The price ticket for the outfit read £49. A real bargain for something so bespoke. I asked to try it on.

I was led upstairs to the eaves of the building where there were some very tiny, dubiously shaped, fitting rooms, very little headspace yet again, was there a toilet in there too? 

As I got changed I spotted that the label was an original St Michael's - this was the real deal as far as vintage fashion was concerned.

Once dressed I was allowed onto the rooftop to strut my stuff and get a feel for the ensemble. There must have been mirrors but I was more taken in by the view, a landscape akin to the chimney sweep scene in Mary Poppins but without the soot and bad cockney accents.

I admired myself in the dress, made from a scratchy wool gaberdine fabric, and blouse, as soft as silk, which went some way to mitigate the prickles of the dress.

I dropped my gaze and caught sight of the price tag, hand written and pinned with a safety pin.

Whereas I’d originally spied the price of £49 it had now increased to three figures. More than a little bit beyond my budget.

However, it was a dress with pockets and all of us know the true value of a pocket in a dress is almost priceless, but as I stuck my hands in I could feel the texture of scrunched up tissues. 

Now it’s all well and good when it’s your own pocket and you know the provenance of where they have come from, but a stranger’s tissues – eugh!

I withdrew my hand quickly, the price on the dress now read an incredible four figure sum.

And there the dream ended.

I’m sure there must be a lesson in there somewhere about price rises, the demise of the High Street, remembering to remove things from pockets before you donate them?

If you have any thoughts, please feel free to add a comment.

Or have you had a weird dream recently that you remember vividly? Please share.