Who Is Andrew Beattie?

Dearest her, the one that got away,

And the rest of you,

I hope all is truly spectacular.

It’s Friday evening and I’m at my little desk, in my little room, listening to the very soothing Dan in Real Life soundtrack and about to write a smattering of words about dreams, my dreams, and the things that happen between my ears and behind my glazed eyes when I’m talking, talking to you, but mostly to them. Here goes.

Someone I know called me a ‘dreamer’ recently. Before this incident I’d always imagined, or rather dreamt, that I’d be extremely impressed if faced with this almighty compliment, like my life’s work was finally being recognised, almost like winning a Nobel Peace Prize but without the cheque or anything relating to a prize, except in my mind. It wasn’t though. It wasn’t meant as a compliment at all. No recognition, no cheque, no peace, no mind prize, just a massive fat reality slap to the kisser for dreamers everywhere.

But is it such a bad thing to dream? I mean Martin Luther King Jr had a dream didn’t he? And Supertramp, they dedicated a whole song to one particular dreamer, surely a first rate dreamer. Shit, Mama Cass wanted me to Dream a little Dream of her for fucks sake, and that’s Mama Cass. With so much good dreaming in the world how could being called a ‘Dreamer’ possibly be a bad thing?

You see, it’s hard for me not to dream. I spend most of my waking hours off in Fiji, killing zombie’s in the last great Liverpool resistance, zapping big green aliens with my trusty ray gun or smoking a cigarette at the bar next to some dusky maiden, who is also a Russian spy. The bitch, and she doesn’t think I’m on to her, ah ha!

Alright so none of the above is strictly true. What I do dream about is my future, scenarios that haven’t happened yet, acted out in my mind with the characters from my life that are likely to be there at the time of these imaginary scenarios. I guess you could say that I spend most of my life living in an imaginary future in my mind. Shit, that is a little weird isn’t it?

Well no. It isn’t weird at all. I like to day dream, it makes reality bearable. Ok, so maybe I could apply myself a little more to tasks that matter in the present but I’ll always have a little day-dream as I’m doing it. Asking me not to day-dream is after all, asking me not to think, at all, and if I didn’t think at all, I’d never be a pirate ever again.

I mean it’s not like I’m totally fucking oblivious to the things that happen around me on a daily basis and I’m not in a permanent psychosis as I suspect Derren Brown’s wife is. I know for instance that the world that I make up in my mind, although very similar in many respects to the one I live in, is a damn site better. Where I live, there is no need to label anyone a ‘dreamer’, or label anyone anything for that matter. Where I live its ok for me, and you, to just sit and read of an evening and not be in the local boozer trying desperately to get balls deep in someone or other because that’s what men my age do. Where I live, money doesn’t really matter, or at least not as much as say, anything else. Where I live, it’s ok to think, even if like me, ‘You’re not paid to think’. In my world, it’s acceptable to say a big ‘fuck off’ to reality and dream of a better one.

I also know for instance that I really, really want to be a proper writer, and I’m fully aware that if I don’t just get on with it, keep dreaming, ignore the labels, and make it happen, I risk being called a ‘dreamer’ for the rest of my life, and not in the good way of my world.

With that in mind I’ve decided to reach far into the future world my mind has created and write the following Oscar acceptance speech for my successful screen play project which I’m yet to write. It’s much more fun in my world. Right, Oscars, me winning, surprised face, hugs and high fives, up to the stand to collect my Oscar, a wave, a small pretend trip up the stairs, laughter and applause, a funny with a long roll of paper after I mention that “I really didn’t prepare a speech”, and then:

I really didn’t expect this. Pause for laughter as I look down at the pretend 20 foot roll of pretend speech again. So, who to thank? Who to bloody thank. Well I’ll start with my parents, and brother, and family, and friends, and cat, and all the authors that write books of any sort, and musicians who make any music, and artists, and film-makers, and poets, and playwrights, and actors, and everyone else. I’d particularly like to thank that bloke who called me a ‘dreamer’ for making me realise that my reality is better that any other reality because its mine. Pause for laughter as my trousers fall down and I trip over them trying to pick them up. Note to self: don’t wear belt but please for the love of god wear underwear. Pretend to be embarrassed. Run of stage pretend crying. Run back on to pick up Oscar. ENDS.

Right, on that dreamy note folks I’ll be off now to do a little dream, have a read, listen to some more dreamy music and enjoy what’s left of my Friday evening before a weekend of screenplay research, more reading, more dreaming and more dreamy music. I’ll return soon with a list of the films that made the me. Until then, thanks for stopping by to visit and remember,

Dreams are nothing more than wishes and a wish is just a dream, wished to come true.

Take the good care,

Andrew Beattie