Golems, Victorian Top Gear, and Drag Queens

In my dream, I’m climbing a mountain range with my family. We stop hiking to watch a team of wild horses gallop down the mountainside straight toward us. I panic, but my mother scolds me because this is part of a show I am suddenly partaking in. We duck down and allow the stampede of blindfolded horses to jump over us.

We’re almost clear. But at the last moment, the horses become terrified of a creature lumbering out of the forest. We hide behind a craggy boulder. Two horses lay down beside me, and I stroke their quivering necks. With my other hand, I cradle a duckling.

The creature is a golem, but it pays us no heed.

The dream shifts. I become a bird/raccoon/hobbit creature, like Rocket from Guardians of the Galaxy, only with wings and a beak and hairy feet. I’m somehow him, but also not. Two golems chase after me. They’re different than the first and look like thick-necked Russian mobsters. One’s a woman.

They want me dead.

No matter how many times I try to hurt them, they keep chasing me. I stick a nail in the male’s eye, yet it doesn’t harm him. I shoot the female, but it does nothing. I run through homes, businesses, all older brick buildings with lavish interiors. I’m fast, too, like the Flash. I jump in spurts, transporting myself here and there, but don’t have the stamina to keep it up for long.

Finally, when my energy is almost spent, I lose them in a glade. There, I follow tiny woodland creatures, who guide me to their leader–Top Gear’s former host, Jeremy Clarkson. He’s bedecked in Victorian clothing, with a top hat and everything.

I follow Mr. Clarkson through the forest to a carnival that is supposed to be a safe place from these Russian golems. I become more human and less of a creature.

I meet the rest of the Top Gear crew. James May runs a carnival booth, swindling money from joyous revelers. Richard Hammond, cutie that he is, plays poker at a table. He fervently ignores all of my attentions. Desperate to win him over, I wander the carnival and stumble upon a booth run by a very charming drag queen who is determined to dress up my face.

His assistant, a willowy blonde woman, is not so eager. Rather, as she blots my face with white paint, she decides to keep me there for three days. After those three days, I’m either stuck there for eternity or dead.

On the second day, I find an old film and learn she is not only a ghost, but was once a man. I finally somehow escape her.

And the dream unfortunately ends before I can get anywhere with Hammond.

And on that bombshell, is anyone else as excited as me to see the Top Gear crew in their new show, The Grand Tour?