Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Regular friends of the decanter will know that on occasion ol’ Robbo will jot down a postie on a dream he has had.  In this,  TPSAYE serves not so much in its function as a forum for publick entertainment, but more so in its róle  as convenient diary.  Years from now, I’m sure that my biographer case-worker will appreciate the navigational hints these entries offer for penetrating the murky backwaters of my braims.

So t’other night, as part of a cycle of unusually vivid and bizarre dreams,  I had one featuring the pater.   It’s better than five years since the old gentleman handed in his dinner pail, and I don’t think I’ve dreamed about him more than a couple times in the interim.  So when I do,  it’s that much easier to remember.

Anyhoo, in the dream, we were in an ordinary suburban kitchen, fishing.  Yes, fishing.  I recall the rods and reels (spinners) quite clearly, as well as the tiled floor.  I believe that the kitchen was, in fact, the one in South Texas where I spent the majority of my misspent yoot.

At some point the old gentleman said, “The big ones are always right under the counter.”  At this, for some reason I reached over and took hold of his line, perhaps to move it to said spot.  The next thing I knew, his hook was firmly implanted in the ball of my palm just below my thumb.

I recall turning my hand over and seeing the entire thing – barb, shank and eye, outlined just below the skin.  It didn’t hurt at all.  I then held up my hand and looked away, and could feel the old gentleman winkling the hook and hear him muttering under his breath.  Again, it didn’t hurt.  A few seconds later, the hook was out.

I looked back at my hand.  There was just a tiny mark where the hook had been, but from that point an unusual amount of blood started flowing out.  I dabbed at it with something, but the blood kept flowing, not in a torrent, but steadily.  I flapped my hand and the drops started spattering all about.

My overriding concern was not that I was bleeding, but that I was making a hell of a mess.  In particular, I remember being worried that the blood would somehow get all over the rug out in the hall and that it would be the very devil to get it out again.

And then, as they say, I woke up.

You may make of this what you will.