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Pipes
By nealejames | March 16, 2007
I have a full day’s photo shoot today on location. And last night, as my head head hit the pillow and sleepy thoughts started to consume me, travel logistics began to run through my mind for the following morning. Had I packed enough lighting, must remember battery spares, was there a reflector in the car, oh, and must must must remember to grab the GPS as I hadn’t a clue how to find this place. I’m sure it’s that one last thought that triggered a restless night of sleep. What I should have done at that moment, is hauled my sleepy backside out of bed, grabbed the sat nav and propped it against the front door so as not to forget. It would have been an investment in the following six hours of possible sleep. But I was in that mode where, half asleep and far too comfy to even raise a finger in semi consciousness, I couldn’t physically find the where-with-all to act. And so my recurring dream struck! Everyone seems to have their own ‘recurrer.’ For most it seems to be chase scenes, running away from something, falling - that’s a popular one I hear. For me it’s somewhat different. Years ago when I worked at BBC Broadcasting House, despite being there for four years, I could never properly navigate my way round the place. One department I just couldn’t seem to find, resided in the bowels of the Beeb, where, rumour has it, there was a fully functional broadcasting suite in case of nuclear strike. I’d always been fascinated by this rumour. And so one night whilst working the graveyard shift, went in search. In the spooky semi darkness of the sub sub basements of what’s affectionately referred to as BH, I found heating pipes. Lots of them. Lots and lots and lots of them. Infact, you can’t move for them. It’s a fact I’m sure, that a large proportion of our BBC licence fee goes on maintaining the spagetti dish of tangled tubes that are the BBC pipes. And so, I got lost. I spent what seemed like an hour finding my way back up to ground level in the dark. And ever since, if I have a recurring dream, that’s what it is. I’m leaving for the shoot shortly. I’ll take a detour I think, and pass by Halfords. I’m going to buy something today’s kids haven’t heard of; a roadmap. Something I can leave in the car, fearless that it will be nicked. Never again do I want to have a sleepless night trying to remind myself about packing the GPS. Or maybe the dream is telling me something else? Perhaps I should have been a plumber. Pipes.
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