A Dream: When the RAF Met the Harry Potter Roller Coaster

I’ve been having some really vivid, strange dreams lately. I don’t tend to remember them much. It’s a bit of a long story as to why I don’t remember them – but a doctor told me once that she thought I had trouble hitting deep sleep, or something. She didn’t seem certain as to whether this was the case or not, but it means I go through these stages where I have waves of crazy dreams. I’m on the crest of a big dream wave at the moment, it seems!

So here’s last nights dream, involving an altercation between the RAF and a Harry Potter roller coaster.

I wasn’t me. I was a middle-aged, rotund security guard with the typical white shirt and grey trousers. I had a few pens in my breast pocket, and I always had my shirt tucked in. I had a mop of short scruffy black hair on my head, and I remember it being horribly greasy. There didn’t sem to be much I could do to fix it, however. I’d been given a new job just outside a small village in the middle of fucking nowhere.

The village didn’t even seem to have a name. It was at the foot of a range of mountains, and consisted of a handful of houses, a shop, and a hydroelectric plant. The water running down from the mountains turned a number of generators in the concrete brick of a building. It was very large, and looked like a load of warehouses stacked awkwardly on top of one another. A lot of people were employed there, and the power generated by the machines inside provided a huge amount of power not only for those living locally, but for the country generally.

I had no idea what country I was in, though I presumed it to be the UK. We were under threat from invading foreign forces, or bombings, and so I’d been given a job in this small town providing on-site security for a building company who would be laying foundations for (and eventually building) a new RAF base which would defend the area from attack. I was one of only two guards. The other was a lazy larger man than I, who would sit at his desk and eat biscuits and crisps all day. He’d never walk his patrol, or check the locks. I’d end up doing all the myself.

The builders dug out the land and started laying the foundations, and eventually the walls began to go up. It was a couple of days after this that we noticed it. On the other side of the yard, right near the foot of the first mountain, another structure was being built. It didn’t seem to have much in the way of foundations, and scaffolding went up pretty quickly. It couldn’t have been part of the RAF base, because the runways were meant to go there. We wondered whether it was a mistake on the part of the builders, but as a lowly security guard I didn’t want to point it out to them.

A couple of days later we received a memo from someone high up in the RAF who had found out about the structure at the edge of the base. Someone was building a theme park there. More specifically, a Harry Potter themed roller coaster. We took this very seriously. At the bottom of the memo the member of the RAF said the matter was being looked in to, and that legal teams would investigate things further. A couple more days passed, and then one morning whilst watching the news a story came on about the Harry Potter roller coaster and how it was being threatened by those in command of an RAF base. It was us. That was the base I worked at.

When I arrived at work that day there were hundreds of people outside the gates dressed up as witches and wizards. I’d never seen anything like it. They were all holding signs and shouting about how wrong it was for us to threaten the building of this majestic roller coaster. That the RAF were out of order for threatening to take the land from the poor folks trying to build a tourist attraction to bring interest to the area. Of course, as far as I was concerned, the land had belonged to the RAF the whole time. I had been told as much by my superiors.

As the day went on, more and more protestors dressed as mages gathered outside the fences. Dragons, unicorns, and other magical creatures eventually joined them. Hundreds became a thousand. My fellow security guard didn’t seem bothered at all, even when they started to get a little rowdy and began pushing at the fences. I went outside with a loudspeaker and encouraged everyone to calm down. They didn’t. It seemed to make them worse. Eventually they broke through the first set of fences, and I was forced to shout down the radio, ‘Man the gates! Secure the walls!’

The other guard lumbered slowly out of the mobile we used as an office, and casually walked towards the main gate. He pulled the chain loosely around where the gates came together, and locked them quietly. Then, without even looking at all the people coming towards the fences and the gates, he turned round and walked back into the office, back to his snacks. I didn’t know what to say. The crowd lingered a little, and I put down the loudspeaker and started chatting to them about what they thought was going on here. Then I explained delicately that the land was owned by the RAF, and that the land was to be used as a base from whcih aircraft could take off to quickly defend the hydroelectric plant from attack. They seemed receptive to the idea, and eventally I won them over completely.

I left them and watched as they turned towards the rest of the crowd and began to share the message with them. The shouting turned to quiet muttering, and then, slowly but surely, they began to leave. I’d succeeded. Then I woke up.

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