Your dreams explained… with Ethel Sprout
Hello, Ethel Sprout here, Monkeybroth’s resident dream-monger and all round astral projecting, subconscious examining harbinger of hope.
Oh dear Monkeybrothers, I am sure many of you have heard of me as I am truly the dream explainer to the stars. You name them, and I have charged exorbitant amounts of money to go through their night time mind wanderings to come up with some two-bit explanation which really bears no resemblance to the true meanings of their sweaty nocturnal expirations, all carried out in the back room of my flat just off the Ealing Broadway. John Cleese? Well, no not him. Timothy Spall, no, not him either. Cherie Blair? Look…shall we just get on with this for Christ’s sake?
Thank you to all those who have already written in to me. I am now preparing myself to open my third eye, to raise myself to the level of the subconscious, to find my inner karma and to reveal to you, dear Monkeybrothers, the true meaning of your dreams. For further help please do get in touch – oh you dear confused rabbits, no I don’t need my palm to be crossed with silver for me to aid you. I am, however, partial to a drop of Budgens own brand sweet sherry. In fact it’s essential for me to truly find my zone and explain your dreams in your dreams explained with Ethel Sprout.
A couple of nights ago, I dreamt that a winged tortoise flew in through my bedroom window and circled above my head, before ever so gently defecating into my husband’s open and snoring mouth. He did not stir throughout the whole terrible experience, but woke the next morning with a terrible thirst and a hankering for Findus Crispy Pancakes –chicken and mushroom flavour. What does it all mean?
K. Creole, Gammon Rind, Piffleshire
Truly troubling times in the Creole household. Tortoises, in my opinion, are not as good as turtles who can swim, giving them a serious advantage in an underwater environment. Yes, tortoises have small legs with claws, but surely the turtle’s magnificent flippers are superior in every department. The fact that the tortoise gently defecated in your husband’s mouth is key to unravelling the mystery behind your dream. He’s having an affair poor, poor K. Kick him out now and if you start dreaming about him having aubergines in his pocket then we really do need to talk.
Please help me; I don’t know what else to do. A few nights back I woke in a cold sweat after dreaming that my son’s BMX came to life and began flirting with me outrageously. It would drop various items from its handlebars, such as its bell and speedometer, before asking me to bend down in front of it and pick the items up. As I did so I could hear air escaping from its tyres in a sort of ‘phwoar’ sound. This happened over a number of days in my dream and came to a head when I bent down to check it’s tyre pressure. It then clearly honked the words ‘while you are down there, love’. Night after night I dreamt I was being viciously verbally and sexually assaulted by my son’s BMX. What does it all mean? For the record it’s a Diamond Back Pro bike with yellow mag wheels and integrated suspension. It cost a lot of money so I have to say I expected far better from it.
Gloria Office-Printer, Table-Cloth-On-The-Hill, Shireshire
How awful for you dear Gloria, or may I call you Glozza? You know, many of my clients ask me if they should act on their dreams. They say, Ethel, should I follow my dreams? I say you’ve got to have a dream; otherwise I would be out of a job and evicted from my Ealing flat. We have a laugh about that one, me and the stars. This is a perfect example of following your dreams, Glozza. You are clearly attracted to your son’s BMX and your dream is a nocturnal projection of your desire. Run away with it, Glozza ,and surely your love will be cemented in a golden future of pedalling, endos, bunny hops and grazed knees and elbows. Oh how I envy you Glozza.
Last night I dreamt, bow, di bow, di bow… that somebody loved me
For the love of creosote, grow up man. Oh and I have spoken to the council about that punctured bicycle of yours on the hill side. Get it moved by Tuesday or I shall speak to the police, it’s blocking my drive.
My god, I’m in a terrible state. My recurring dream is about dolphins. Many Monkeybroth readers may well say how lovely that would be. After all, the playful aquatic mammals are one of Mother Nature’s most charming and endearing organisms, all intelligent like and brainy. However, my dream is horrific in its nature. I’ve weed the duvet in fear on many occasions, I don’t mind admitting. Nearly every night I dream I am driving along a deserted road, when I see a clearly down-on-his-luck dolphin hitchhiking by the side of the road. This dolphin is dishevelled, bearded and dressed in a long rain mac with a trilby pitched at crooked angle on his head. His flippers are wrapped in plastic bags tied up with bits of string. Every night I pick the dolphin up and we drive to the nearest Little Chef, the convenient and often well placed roadside eatery.
The dolphin orders the full Olympic breakfast while I make do with a white coffee and a toasted teacake. To pass the time before our order arrives we play a game of travel twister, which the dolphin takes great delight in slowly unravelling in front of my horrified eyes. Every night I lose this game of mammal- on -man Twister despite the reach of my limbs being far superior to his own appendages. What does it mean, Ethel? Please help me.
Duncan Brush, St Potato-on-the-Waffle, Biffordshire
I am so sorry to hear that you are having a dream about dolphins. How awful for you. I don’t think you realise just how wonderful dolphins are. They swim, they lark about, they rescue divers from secret underwater lairs. They can read and write and book package holidays the whole family will enjoy. They are excellent knitters and many are quite musical. One dolphin I know reached Grade Four Clarinet, just weeks after picking it up for the first time. How dare you dolphin bash Duncan, how dare you.
To get to the bottom of your dreams, write to Ethel Sprout, enclosing a bottle of Budgen’s own sweet sherry, to Ethel Sprout c/o Monkeybroth Towers, Biffordshire. We are sorry but we cannot return any of your pictures.