The Belgian Unicorn Dream

So I have a holiday planned soon, going to Paris. Hopefully my dream version doesn’t happen, because it was every kind of wrong.
I was meant to be going with my boyfriend, but for whatever reason my flatmate was with me instead. We set off (a little late) for the hotel by the airport. I’d booked a room for us to nap for a bit before our flight.
Only the hotel was a little difficult to find. We were in the middle of what appeared to be a storage yard. And it was massive. I mean like to the point where you couldn’t even see how far it went on for.
This wasn’t being used like a storage yard, though. In between the humongous crates, people were doing various activities within the maze.
We’d never find our hotel.
We passed one of my work regulars singing karaoke by himself. We pushed our way through a group of leotard-clad plastic women, gyrating to a workout video. They looked at us with malice for interrupting them. I simply said, “I could totally do that.”
At some point, we picked up another of my flatmates and a friend from College. They decided they were coming with us. But both of them were distracted by the market around the corner. Then we passed a girl playing on a retro version of Pac-Man. And somehow she was stuck. My flatmate stayed behind to help her. I carried on, with urgency, towards our goal.
Eventually, after much searching, I found the hotel. I checked in and found my way to the room, hoping my flatmate would catch up. He did… but not the right flatmate. The other knocked on my door, smiling, and tried to settle on the second bed.
“Oh,” I said. “Have you not got another room…?” He looked surprised that I hadn’t taken into consideration that he might be joining our party. I started unpacking my bag, putting down numerous books I had no idea why I’d packed.
The rest of our group found us, just as it was time to leave. Of course, they were reluctant, but we were running late.
And so began the search for the airport. We had an hour before our flight, which was bad. I wasn’t even sure they’d still let us on. We finally got out of the storage yard, and came across a little tent on a hill. Sat outside was a large man with an even larger beard, and inside the tent was a young woman.
We sat inside the tent for a little while, chatting to the woman. My flatmate took a shine to her. The tent itself was filled with everything musical; gramophones and instruments of various sizes. One of the LPs nearest to me was a harpist by the name of Eva Reich. I put two and two together, and figured this was the woman stood before us.
And then I remembered why we were there. I asked them where the airport was, and they pointed down the hill to a huge, ugly building in the distance. We thanked them, and set off.
It was clear we were now in Belgium, despite setting off from Britain and hoping to get to France. We ran down the hill with our suitcases in tow, and it was great fun. Our group had grown even bigger since we’d set out as a two. There was now about seven of us.
At the bottom of the hill was a tree, and behind the tree was a pure white horse. Only when it turned its head towards us, we realised it wasn’t a horse at all, it was a unicorn. It grinned at us with scarily human teeth, and we saw that it clearly had something wrong with its face. Nevertheless, we carried on to the airport, now much closer than we thought it would be.
We reached a road that was perfect in every way. The houses on either side were like neat gingerbread houses, all pristine and lovely. Unfortunately, they were bordered by the airport. Inside the big building was modern and completely out of place from the outside scenery. However, they did have an amazing Belgian ice cream shop. My flatmate gazed with dribble down his chin in the window, as I tried in vain to pull him away for the flight leaving in ten minutes.
It was a very stressful night’s sleep.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s