In my dream I was led along a white corridor, through a great wooden door into a hall of madness where I was left, cowering in the corner, waiting.
They came for me, made me wash with scented soap, gave me a white gown to wear, flowers to put in my hair. I was then led to a room with cages in which men lay; unwashed men with great long beards, yellow teeth, overgrown toenails and crazed eyes that had seen the depths of hell.
“Choose, girl!” ordered a rough voice by my side.
The men looked at me hungrily.
I did not wake.
“Why do they say we are a few sandwiches short of a picnic?”
“Because we’re insane, stupid.”
“Don’t call me that. You know I don’t like it. What I was going to say was, isn’t it strange that we can be a few sandwiches short of a picnic as well as being a basket case?”
“Why’s that strange?”
“OK, strange is perhaps not the right word. Inefficient.”
“Yes, the expression should be: to be a few sandwiches short of a picnic basket. That way you can have one saying instead of the two.”
“Language is not like mathematics.”
“It just isn’t. For example, mathematics is logical, language isn’t.”
“You mean, so people can say illogical things, and that’s not a problem?”
“So why are we in here then, and they not?”
“Oh, just shut up. All these questions are driving me crazy.”