I just woke from a nasty, horrible dream – the type of dream you feel relieved to wake from, and to find they are in fact just dreams. In it, me and my younger brother Luke were kicking the shit out of one another. Luke was being nasty to me, taunting me and winding me up just for fun, and I was trying to kill him for it. It got really brutal. For some reason we were in Greenwich Park with the rest of our family. The thing is, I rarely see Luke these days, except on the weekly Skype call. He has matured into a kind, extremely hard working man who loves his wife dearly; I have the greatest respect for him, and know he would never try to taunt me or beat me up (except to threaten to put me in a plastic bag and roll me down a hill, but that’s another story). I therefore have no idea why I would have such a horrific dream, so I just want to say: Luke, if you’re reading this bro, I’m thinking of you. I know you’re insanely busy with work these days, but it has been far too long since we met for a chat, a meal and perhaps a drink.
The same goes for my other brother Mark, for that matter. I suppose the last two years have driven families like mine further apart; it’s also probably an inevitable consequence of time, as both my brothers now have their own lives and families to tend to. Yet, bloody violent though it was, dreams like the one I just woke from remind you that your siblings still exist, that they are important, and that sooner or later you’ll have to do something to get them all together again.