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Little Nemo’s adventures in the Bazaar of Dreams January 13, 2013

Posted by adam1warren in Uncategorized.

There was a note pinned to the door which read “Free dreams – come buy, come buy!”. ‘Curiouser and curiouser’ I thought, turned the brass knob and opened the door. Inside it was silent – I had been expecting a clamour of voices, with exotically-garbed dream merchants hawking their wares. Instead, there was a long table with a neat row of white paper bags along it. Each had a small label writtenwith blue ink. Coming closer, I looked at the first: “Ann’s Learning design for the whole institutional curriculum”. That seemed like a very big dream, and a bit scary, so I moved on, wandering down the table, looking at the labels as I went. Many seemed very vague; just a name and “my dream” or “my dream project proposal”. There was not much time before I had to wake up, so I didn’t peer inside these and just carried on along the row of paper bags, looking for a title that appealed. It felt like browsing through boxes of books at a jumble sale; I just knew that the right book/dream would make itself visible without too much determined searching. And there it was, nearly at the end of the table: “Oli Haslam: My dream: Learning design for a collaborative ‘gamified simulation’ environment in WordPress Multisite”. That sounded like a dream I might enjoy, so I picked it up.

“A good and wise choice, sir, if I may say so” said a unctuous voice at my shoulder. I turned, and there was a Dream Merchant, resplendent in his richly-embroidered robe and ornate snood. “How much is this dream?” I asked and he smiled like a crocodile. “They are all free, these dreams, kind sir. No fee, bill, charge or payment required, apart from the time taken to dream them, of course. However…” (and here he smiled even wider, if that was possible) “…turning that dream into reality may be a little more costly.” Suddenly I realised that the bag, which had seemed as light as a cloud, was getting heavier and heavier, pulling me down, tipping me forward until

I landed with a bump on the floor beside my bed. “No more Welsh rarebit for me just before bedtime” I groaned. Only then did I notice the paper bag with its neatly-written label in blue ink, resting on my bedside table…



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