Realm Breach dream

I think I was waiting at a bus stop when I was picked up by a group of Mormons whom I knew from my time in the church. They are friendly enough but I am aware, because I haven't been in touch with them (or their religion) for many months, that I am regarded with a certain suspicion. We are due to participate in a reality TV-style singing contest, which seems to have enlisted the entire country. Cut to centre court at Wimbledon, and scenes of melee inspired by this show... (and host Bruce Forsyth, suave and don-like, in the eye of the storm.) Arriving at the concert hall where the contest is being filmed, we are greeted by a scene of all-out pandemonium. Boys, all in crisp white shirts, are bundling into every door, entrance and window of the building, which is designed like a multi-level car park (or Tower of Babel.) The energy is wild and very threatening; I am due to room with the artist Banksy, but when we get to his dormitory we find it has been raided by the swarming hordes. A mocking letter from the thieves thanks Banksy for the free Radiohead CDs, amongst other items stolen. I find a degree of comfort and solitude in the basement gym, though when I catch my reflection in the tall mirrors that completely cover one wall I look terrible: my hair is long, greasy and threadbare; and a large black eye covers one half of my face.

So two dreams in two nights about reality TV. A precognitive register, possibly, of this very important story from today's Daily Mail, perhaps?

http://the-daily-behemoth.blogspot.com/2008/11/truman-syndrome.html