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Ian Ogilvy is my dream friend…

…Or that should rather read is a friend in my dream. I was walking carelessly through the woods, tripping over roots and scrapping my knuckles on the rough bark of the trees. I reached the canal which cut through the woods like a scar. It dawned on me that I was extremely late for my appointment. I climbed up the steep embankment away form the canal and found the pub in which I should have been. It was one of those tired old English pubs where the food is dry, the gravy gluttonous and the lager is flat. There is lots of wood in the pub. It seems everything is made of wood. Wooden panels. Wooden floors. Wooden bar. Wooden tables and chairs. The ceiling is stained yellow from years of cigarette smoke.

I find Ian sat at a long table. He has an entourage of hanger’s on sat on the same table but away from him down the other end. The table has intricate bevelled edges. He is older than I remember. I sit down and introduce myself.  I begin to interview Ian Ogilvy. He is very pleasant to me and eats smoked fish by slowly and deliberately peeling the silvery skin away from the yellowed flesh with his fingers. Perhaps it is Roger Moore and not Ian Ogilvy? I ask him and he looks at me quizzically. “I am Ian Ogilvy, my friend.” My dream friend.

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  1. littleh #

    ‘To dream of Saints must surely be a sin..’
    Be it Ogilvy or Moore, same difference. Anyways, like, good luck for next week! h

    September 18, 2013

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