I was asleep in the garden. It was a hot lazy summer’s afternoon, at the time of day when it seems to get hotter, and things come to a stop. Well not a stop exactly, more coming to rest, you know, bees stop buzzing, wasps stop wasping, and even birds have a rest from pecking.

I like a sleep in the garden, because some how you are not completely away, you kind of hover between sleep and reality, as if you can recognise this half conscious state and so enjoy it. Also there’s a sense of getting away with something, you are loafing about when you ought to be doing something worthwhile! And also it’s slightly rebellious since you sense that wives don’t like you idling about, as you well know they like to be doing something with purpose, and that certainly includes you! I also like to dream. Funny that, I'm always big on dreaming.

Do you know I read in the paper the other day that most people dream in monochrome (that’s black and white, or in the case of dreaming more grey). Well I checked it out and I for one certainly don't dream in black and white, mine is glorious Technicolor (notice the American spelling there). I like to sleep in the garden because, (no this not the start of a competition), I can be contemplatious. That’s like being philosophical without being Melvin Bragish ~ have you heard him and his gang on Radio 2, heaven knows what they mean by it all, but being contemplatious in the garden is much more fun. Mind you if you have had a few down the pub at lunch you’ll find there won’t be much of that going on; still you know that anyway!

I’m getting off the track here because I have something quite remarkable to impart. I was asleep in the garden, and I was dreaming. I can dream quite easy, I pass from contemplatious to dreamatious by thinking of something vaguely erotic, and there I am — Alice in Wonderland. My name is certainly not Alice, so there!

Any rate there I am in this dream world when funny things start happening in the garden. I see a large frog on a lily leaf, I mean a large frog, far larger than the leaf can stand, and its talking to a rabbit. I’m not certain what they are saying, but it is an earnest conversation. I get up from my recliner and. walk over to see what this is all about, since, I’m sure, you would agree this is a bit unusual.

As I approach they look at one another with some disdain and disappear, well the frog dives into the water and the rabbit disappears down it’s hole, well it would wouldn’t it, although I don't recall there being a rabbit hole in my garden.

The garden pond then turns into a large pool as if in a large formal garden, and there swimming in it is a nymph, (that’s a young Greek goddess living in streams and the like). Now nymphs by their very nature are unclothed, well naked! Now I thought this is more like it, a young nymph is certainly more to my liking. Now I don’t have to tell you that nymph, (I do like that word) leads to nymphet, and then to nymphomania, and then, wait for it, nymphomaniac, which is when women become nymphomanial !!

At these thoughts I felt stirring that was not part of a dream and so I put them from mind. And so I drift along, so to speak, on the clouds of dreams, it is a sweet state, as things kind of drift in and out, sometimes you are part of it and sometimes you see yourself.

And so my somnolent state continues,- there is a faint buzzing sound intruding in my dreamy state as if a light aircraft is passing over, or maybe it’s a bee, and is that a lawn mower, there’s always some Burke ready to disturb a Sunday afternoon! And yet there is something else; voices. Could it be children from next door; no, there is a certain young women’s tone about them, these are more adult voices, and yet? 

There is a tinkling sound to them as if it was of no matter just some girls having a natter, as they do, about nothing.

Did I see them? Well, yes; there are several voices, kind of intertwining, like water running over rocks in a stream, and they are getting louder, they are in my garden! Extraodinary! I turn from my recliner and see the most astonishing sight, my three statues of Grecian ladies are actually talking to one another, they have moved from their pedestals and are grouped together laughing and chatting!

As I watch they appear to grow in size, and we are together, in my garden. But something has changed, my statues are sylph like but these ladies are buxom with no clothes on. I cough, they turn their turn heads lazily in my direction but take very little notice and continue nodding away. I notice that they cast the odd glance in my direction and as they do there is the faintest smile of amusement, I look down and I am completely naked. I am taken aback!

I involuntary cover my face at the embarrassment then I realise that is not what I ought to be covering. Say someone came into the garden, my wife in particular, what on earth would I say or do? I take stock of the situation as best I can. Am I dreaming? Is this really my garden? Are my staues alive, if they are they have certainly become more bumptious. And here I am standing about like a spare prick at wedding, if you see what I mean! What to do for the best?

Like most English men when confronted by their sexual fantasies they become embarrassed and don’t know how to act! Unfortunately we are puritan at heart, but my God how I would like to be part of that group. Just imagine embracing them all; all that flesh! They turn and beckon me to join them! I move toward them, my pulse quickening. Does this mean I will be allowed to enter their inner sanctum of female preserve, the secret world of the Harem so to speak.

Already I smell the heady perfume, the oils, the essences that they anoint their bodies with. And, the secrets they must know, the laguid conversations they have, and the casual sensuousness they show to each other! Will I be part of that, I can’t wait. I hear the tinkling of teacups on saucers? Will this involve Geisha girls? I here girlish laughter as I embrace them. Their flesh and my flesh touch and meld together. The unconscious sexuality becomes a fire to my senses, every nerve tingles. Their laughter becomes a symphony to my desires and yet at that very moment I am overcome by a love for them; a paternal love! I am ensnared by them and yet I am their protector.This gives me a great feeling of satisfaction, and the moment is complete.

I hear the tinkling of cups on saucers again and the laughter gets louder. Again I hear voices, some of which I recognise, and faintly getting louder I hear may name being called. How do they know my name? Again then I hear a voice, not so  sing songy, more strident.

‘What are you doing?’

I look up and it is my wife with a tray of tea in her hand. I am standing naked caressing the statues of the three Graces. I flee in great confusion!