Category: Mess Themed

Tarot 16 – Posh Eco-lodge Dream 21-03-2026

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Here is last night’s dreaming

The dream / vision opens with a three dimensional animated view of La Maison Dieu, Tarot 16. The scene is not static it is real and not cartoon. I know that this is Liberation Through the Power of Universal Intent. The universe sends bolt after bolt of lightning striking the tower of man’s self-importance dislodging the crown of self-imagined grandeur from their heads and unseating them without ceremony from their thrones. The universe has had enough. Many self-important people will experience Tarot 16. It is the card in play and will remain so for some time. I feel the brooding intent behind it. Some will be kneeled by the universe.

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The vision fades.

The scene opens in a posh mansion like house in the parlour or sitting room. It is English. I am with a rich family. They have asked me to renovate and modernise a lodge on their property. It has seen better days. They want to turn it into a fully specified eco-lodge. I have budget. I will move into the lodge during the renovations. I am being handled as if I was in an avuncular familial advisor role. When I first move in the wayward son Eddy will help. They joke that Eddy can be my girlfriend in that isolated part of the estate. This is because Eddy is also a hippie and once had long hair. Eddy is not at the gathering.

The scene changes to the inside of the lodge. There is a huge Aga style range in the kitchen, which is used to cook, heat the house and water. There are several log burners throughout the property. The place is a bit of a shit tip with cobwebs and dirty glass. I get busy cleaning the windows and tidying up the kitchen. I check the wood supply. The lodge is in a wide clearing in a massive forest North of the M62 in England. All around are trees. The lodge is accessed by a semi-paved single track road off a local main tarmac one. If you did not already know you would not think a lodge to be there.

The next morning a car pulls up and a scruffy young man comes to the door. He knocks and I answer. I am not expecting anyone. He says hi and that he is Eddy. I invite Eddy in. He brings a hiker’s bed roll and rucksack. I show him to a room in the house for him. We get busy on the plumbing getting the single toilet working, cleaning out the bath and shower. We load logs into the log fired Aga and soon the water is warming and smoke is going up the chimney. The whole place needs to be log fired. I can see a place outside for a solar panel array.

The next day a sport car turns up and out of it get two young women. They are the daughters of the family. They are early twenties very “made in Chelsea” well-spoken and expensively dressed. They are used to people running around after them at beck and call. They come in to the kitchen and greet Eddy effusively. Immediately they get out some glasses and pour themselves what looks to be an expensive single malt whisky. They want to have the country experience of getting boozed up in front of an open fire.

I explain to them that  the nearest shop is a long drive away and that they had better ration the whisky rather than getting bladdered. They think me a spoil sport and tease me like I am a difficult parent or uncle. I say that if they are going to stay they had better make themselves useful.

One of them says that she can sort out the curtains the other says she will investigate the garden and vegetable patch. I show her the greenhouse with loose panes and the compost heap. When they are finished I explain that they will need to use the same bath water or wait a long while.

The next day a technician arrives. He looks like Andrew B. Together we go up into the loft to lag the hot water tank. We install a power management unit to fit the soon arriving solar panels. He has with him a short wave radio receiver and a radio transmitter. Which we put to one side until such time as the electricity is up. There is a lot of wiring to be done.

The next day late in the morning a bright red sports car pulls up. Out of it steps a  young blonde woman in party sparkly trousers and white top. She is lost and disoriented. She saw smoke from the chimney.  I go over to her. She retches a little. I ask her if she needs to use our toilet to be sick in. She says no. She got off her face yesterday at the gig and clearly should not be driving. She apologises for getting lost and turning up. I usher into the kitchen where she is fussed over by the daughters with a hot coffee and toast.

I know that the eco-lodge is also a kind of sanctuary and that the main part of the sanctuary is me. I am protection.

The dreaming ends.

My Disappearance – Navalny –  Big Cheese – Cairo – South Kensington Dream – 28-03-2026

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Here is this morning’s dream again with little or no obvious connection to real life here yesterday which we spent wallpapering.

The dream opens in England in and around London. Some kind of missive has gone out, been circulated, concerning my whereabouts. I have gone missing, disappeared and cannot be contacted. Nobody seems to know where I am nor how to get in touch. Tim, Tom and Susan are involved in the search all of whom are “important”. Tim and Sue have made inquiries concerning me but are unsatisfied with the answers. “He just disappeared” does not explain. Other people from the academic clan are involved in the investigation and some of them were known to me. Those involved are mostly of a similar age to me, like Paula, my peer group. Though there are others. The inquiry is largely London based. Although not huge there are questions to be answered that just won’t go away. There is a pendant question of “where did Alan disappear to and why?” There is very mild press and media interest brewing. They, the inquirers, don’t like loose ends. There is a time pressure to solve.

The scene changes and I am in a brightly lit wood / forest with Alexeï Navalny. It is a crisp winter morning and the cold makes dragon’s breath of our breathing. We are sat at a small very basic table on two old-school school chairs. On the table is an open bottle of vodka and two small glass tumblers each of which is partially filled. There is a small plate of gherkins and a large cheese in a round wood circular box like a Camembert. Navalny lifts the lid off the box and places the wax paper wrapped cheese onto a wooden cutting board. He gets a hunting knife out of an ankle scabbard and proceeds to cut the cheese into wedges. He pauses and we take a sip of our vodkas. He is discussing how cheeses can cause problems for other people. All his problems have come from upsetting big cheeses. When you think about it, it is nearly always people who are cheeses that cause problems for others. The reason we are in the wilderness, in exile, is cheese. Navalny reaches down into his knapsack and pulls out a rough-hewn rye bread. He says that he likes vodka, cheese and bread.

The scene changes and I pull up in my car into a very smart posh area of Cairo. The cars in the car park are all expensive and I am driving a black one. I get out and know that this is the posh, upmarket financial centre of Cairo. As yet it is not busy. I go into an upmarket “private” bank usually for high net worth individuals. It is well swish. I go to reception and am ushered off into a side room where I have a meeting with an expensively dressed woman who is wearing a hijab of fine expensive material. She is very classy. She has attached between her subtle noise piercing and ear a fine golden chain. She speaks very good accent free English. She wants to know why I want to open a bank account with them in Cairo. I say that my other bank and utilities have given my information out to others without asking my permission. They have done so at the request of others without checking with me first. This includes my bank in Paris. I am looking for a more personal and reliable service, based on trust. We shift into speaking French. She guides me though the application form which she fills in with a beautiful fountain pen. She says that the bank is very pleased to have me as a customer and that I will always be welcome in Cairo. Outside in the main marble hall of the bank customers are coming in.

The scene changes and I am in a kitchen of a British house. It is my parents’ house only it looks nothing like . The place is a bit of a mess, a shit tip. On the counter top is a Gaggia style coffee espresso machine. I make myself a coffee and one for the wife. She is with me but  I cannot see her. We drink the coffee.

The scene now changes to South Kensington. In a kind of arcade is a coffee shop come café. It is very urban, chic and trendy. Sat around the table are those ~ a decade younger than me. They are gossiping about me. There are Jason Laura and Camilla. They too have been wondering about my disappearance. There has been a lot of gossip and tittle tattle. It is a hot topic.

I walk in with the wife and sit down at the far end of a long table from them They looked surprised. I explain that they have been making a huge to-do about not a lot. I have not disappeared they have just not been aware of where I have been. For instance, we have not long come from South Wales where we have been drinking coffee at my parents’ house. I say that they have turned the whole thing into a massive spy-whodunnit-drama. They are embarrassed. It is well out of proportion.

The dream ends.

Unsatisfactory Endings

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Last night I watched a poor YouTube clip listing behaviours of intelligent people. It suggested that pattern recognition, global overview and an awareness of complexity were characteristics.

I have for now finished my physiotherapy. The experience has been good and the ending for now very satisfactory. I am not used to being physically close to other humans and the feeling is a little strange. Her timekeeping is excellent which for me is a big plus.

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There is a US comedienne who jokes that she was told that she was not sufficiently intelligent to have Asperger’s. Diagnosed autism under some circumstances has a “gifted” component.

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“Microsoft today introduced Majorana 1, the world’s first quantum chip powered by a new Topological Core architecture that it expects will realize quantum computers capable of solving meaningful, industrial-scale problems in years, not decades.

It leverages the world’s first topoconductor, a breakthrough type of material which can observe and control Majorana particles to produce more reliable and scalable qubits, which are the building blocks for quantum computers.”

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Nobody really knows what happened to Ettore Majorana who just “disappeared”. He may have done a “Reggie Perrin” to escape Sunshine Deserts. The plot is left hanging unsatisfied, which enables people to make all sorts of shit up.

I was having a look at Quantum Startups on YouTube yesterday and some are getting funded in aircraft carrier size quanta. With a possible Venture Capital overexposure to AI some diversification of longer term risk might be needed.

I have all the early Microsoft patents on this computer and I may dip into them if I have trouble sleeping. I remember them been longer than a long thing on a well stretched day.

Of late I have noted rushed and unsatisfactory endings to a number of TV series and movies we have been watching. The dramatization and death has been perfunctory and without much artistry. People have been introduced, sketched out a little and then killed off. This has left me with a feeling that the ending was unsatisfactory they could have done better. Body count does not always corelate with narrative excellence. I do wonder if my dissatisfaction with modern drama narrative is partly due to the “old git syndrome”.

“When I were a lad…”

The closing of the Godfather series of movies was very apt and the story telling circle was complete. It was well rounded off. Tidy.

Loose ends hanging are unsatisfactory, there is no closure .

In life there are elements of narrative left pendant and unsolved. They are untidy and messy. From time to time these messy threads reappear like the herpes virus.

Not everyone gets a Disney ending. Some want to make way for a second series or a franchise follow up. Almost without exclusion the follow up is never as good as the original.

This need for some kind of closure whether temporary or otherwise is, it seems, a part of the human psyche.

Leaving things open, untidied and untied can seem wise it can also seem highly unsatisfactory.  Fluidity and winging it can leave a right mess…which can have very wide implications and many ripples.

We are yet to find out what the longer term impacts of what Benjamin Nosferatu and Trump are doing in Iran.

I’ll speculate that it won’t be cut and dried, nor tidy and that the ending will not be satisfactory to anyone. It is a mess made out of a “cunning plan” that was not thoroughly thought through…

Which might be difficult to say for a Frenchman….

It is a moot point as to what makes an ending satisfactory.

But pendant situations do have a knack of hanging around and for a long time…

Forbearance – Engine Rebuild – Dream 12-03-2026

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Here is this morning’s dream the day after the visit to the orthopaedic surgeon. The date is also noted.

The dream opens with a close up view of a professional metal ruler the divisions of which have been precisely inlaid. The ruler is rounded at one end with a hanging hole and right angle flat at the other. The markings have been both cut into the ruler and are inked in black. It is a thing of beauty and precision.  It smacks of engineering. The rule is a twelve inch ruler. With the twelve being the end of the hanging hole. I can see the rest of the numbers but the dream specifically zooms in to the twelve. I know that twelve is the jewel of forbearance and corresponds to the tarot “le pendu”. In the dream I hear that I must be very careful about what I may or may not get myself into. If I do get myself into to anything I must measure accurately my way in and accurately a way out. It is by way of a warning about getting into unnecessary things. I must exercise forbearance and measure.

I am now in a shed or garage. Up on a table is an engine. It is bigger than normal car engines and I sense that it is high performance. I am looking at the engine and note a cut-away in the top through which I can get my hands and an engineering endoscope. Only I can see into the engine. I place my hand into the fibre optic endoscope illuminated interior. I can touch a thin cream-white 1cm thick woven tape which runs from one side of the compartment to the other. It is near the rocker valves. Every time I touch the tape and press it lightly against the engine manifold I hear faint music. It sound likes harps and harpsichords, early Bach. I play a little starting and stopping the music. I ask the others in the workshop if they can hear the beautiful music. They cannot. They are unaware of the subtle sound. They do not know that sound is a key marker of a good working engine. The others in the workshop have given up on the engine and it is only me who can repair it and get it purring again. In the dream I am unsure as to whether the engine refers to me or something much wider. I look down at my hands and despite the engine being oily they have remained clean. I once again press down on the tape at the phrase aeolian harp springs to mind. I sense tides and flow.

The dream returns to the precision metal ruler and a subsequent image of le pendu..

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The dream ends

“Post Mortem” Dream and Going Through the Motions – 25-02-2026

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This morning I had a dreaming segment in which a now emeritus British academic came to inquire of me and my ideas concerning some cobbled together science project or other. She is/was a big cheese in UK science and is the sort of person who would get an obituary written. She asked multiple probing questions but avoided the subject as to why I decided to jack it all in way back.  She was trying to ascertain if I had a scientific mind and was sane. The “interview” took place both at current time and twenty five years ago. She also interviewed my ex-wife in the earlier time frame. From the dream it was clear that our lives {ex-wife} were already divergent back then. The big cheese seemed to find that I was not actually insane and that my scientific thinking was OK. She was going to report back to some committee or other. Some review some post mortem as to what happened way back then.

Commentary

It is very typical in both scientific and political arenas to hold a “placatory review” in which an inquiry is launched and a report made, a white paper written. The aim of these charades is to calm things down and appease by giving the impression of actually doing something. Rarely does anything ever happen after these. The recommendations are noted and consigned to some cobweb filled archive waiting for for Lara Croft to find them several centuries hence. It is extremely rare for any such inquiry to err from the status quo. But it gives the impression of listening, caring and taking action. In fact these are just going through the motions, there is no intention or appetite to change anything.

The dream points at the fact that I have made several decisions which were largely unanticipated by others and about which sense making has been difficult for them. Most of these were handled very poorly because of a lack of interpersonal skills held by others. They were very “Basil Fawlty”.  

“Don’t mention the war!!”

There is no point in holding a post mortem if there is no intention to do anything nor learn from events. It just gives a vague warm feeling of responding albeit long after the horse has bolted. It is by way of post hoc stable door closing. There is an illusion of doing something.

Tremendous Mess – Shenanigans – Disbelief Dream 20-02-2026

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Here is last night’s dream. It follows on from yesterday. I have been unable to recall all the detail partially because I am not interested or inclined so to do. It is boring that this mess theme keeps coming back. I have made a note.

I am in a large old style house which has been converted into flats. I am in a flat which has a passing similarity to the one I had in Brixton. James is there with me in the kitchen and we are talking about his huge mess. There is a ring on the doorbell and Ashley is there with Camilla, they have been on a date despite the fact that Ashley is still married. They want to come in. It is raining very heavily outside. Everyone except me is highly emotional, charged.

I want to know why they have been on a date and it has to do with mess, the tremendous mess they caused concerning me. I say that I am not interested. I want to know why they thought they needed to tell me.

It gets a bit sketchy here. Then.

Ashley starts moving around the flat demonstrating that everything I have is second hand and does not really work well. He tries the gas cooker and the lighting function takes ages to work. He says that I am poor and that he cannot understand why that should be the case because I founded a technology company and raised a lot of money. It should not be like this. It does not make sense to him it is not fair in his eyes. I say that it is what it is.

I note that Camilla is in fact quite drunk. She has been in shenanigans with Ashley somehow. People have been inquiring about my past and that is why James has also cropped up. I know that they have both driven to my flat in their respective Mercedes cars. I tell Ashley that he must drive her home and I come back in with the steering wheel from Camilla’s car with the Mercedes logo on which I have removed. He argues. So I head butt him and he falls to the ground. I say that he needs to be real and to take responsibility.

He gets up and continues to find fault with my poor circumstance. He is being derogatory and negative. In the end they go off in his car. They then return and Ashley makes a dramatic entrance through the French windows. He makes an entrance through the net curtains against the heavy rain backdrop. He says that he has been talking with Susan S. who is also a party to this tremendous and far reaching mess. I can sense Susan through him. I can see her.

I say that it is late and that he had better take Camilla home and then drop James off at his flat which is just off the South circular. I say that I am bored with all the drama and that not everything has to make sense…

As I awake I think. “oh shit, not yet another dream with somebody else’s mess in!!”

Malta German – Cat – South African Problem – Rand Account – Dream 19-02-2026

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Here are last night’s dreams. They are thematically divergent from the recent flow.

The wife and I are in Malta. We are wandering around a built up area with alleys off the main street it is possibly Valetta. We are looking for somewhere to have lunch. Down a side alley I see a chalked up slate easel menu board. We go to investigate. There is a Germanic old-school style café with pastries in the window, a bar and a few tables. The patron is a tall man with a white low apron and is sporting a full moustache. We look at the menu and go in. I go up to the counter and start to try to order in German. I am looking for a sausage in a long roll. There are several kinds. The man is very happy that I am trying German. In a mixture of mostly German and some English I complete my order, the wife orders in English. Soon the host comes over to our table with our food. Again we try German. It gets easier but I still cannot remember the German for sausage. The host is very happy with me and effusive.

I come to and I too am very happy, inordinately, that I was able to remember German in the dream. The word wurst comes to me and it makes me laugh. It is weird to be so happy about remembering German.

I drift back off and am in a veranda of sorts it is like a pod off the side of a house, with many facets, more sides than a hexagon. I don’t know whose veranda it is. Outside the garden runs down to a small river or brook. The veranda is in a bit of disrepair. The glass panels do not fit well. Outside on the window ledges is a cat. It is trying to get in to the veranda. As it moves to a gap in the window panes I readjust the panes so it cannot get it. This becomes something of a game between me and the cat. There will always be a gap because of the state of repair. We play this game for a long time.

I come to and wonder if the dream is pointing at some practical tasks that keep cropping up.

I drift off and am now in an office which is quite serious. I am looking at some paper work about extensive legal problems someone is having in South Africa. That person James cannot do anything about these problems whereas I might. The documentation is extensive and it is about a debt that he and others ran up. There are also share certificates and summons from courts. It is a huge mess and the paper trail is very extensive. There is a lawyer there who asks if I would like to help out. It looks like a minefield but I have the power to assist. I may be able to pay the fines to at least deal with the court summons. James is unaware of the dire situation he is in and the consequences thereof. He is not taking it seriously.

The scene changes and I am at an outside event with barbecues and an entertainment stage. Cars are parked around pub garden tables. It feels UK. There are people using the brai to cook. I have a sudden urge for an ice cream from one of the vans. I order one and go to pay. I cannot find my wallet. The man said I may have dropped it last night when I was drunk. I look on the floor in front of the van and find several wallets and several torches which I put on the ice cream van counter. One of them is my normal wallet. It is soaking wet. I open it and it is jammed full of pristine South African rand, mostly of high denomination. I peel off a few notes and hand the man a R80 note. Which he takes. He asks me about what I am going to do with all my dormant South African bank accounts. Many or which are full and could be filled from other South African sources. I say that I was planning on closing them down. He is now speaking in an Afrikaans accent and suggests that I let them fill up for a while and then decide what to do. If the account wants to fill with money where is the harm in that. I say to him that money and by extension power are not currently how I live. They seem distant. He laughs and say that despite this I still have a wallet crammed full of pristine soaking wet rand!!

The dream ends.

Chaotic Mess – Rare Slow Soul Magic – Dream 12-12-2025

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Sleep last night came in two segments 12 – 2:30 and after an hour of TV, 4 to 7. In “A Discovery of Witches” season two last night Diana masters the ninth knot, the spell of endings and beginnings, the knot of completion(s). Implicit is inherent in this is also the tenth knot. Diana a weaver and time walker prepares to travel back to modern day.

The first part is in the early sleep and shallow. I am with the ex-wife. She wants to show me what is going on in the village. She insists that I go to see what has become of the village pubs. She is curious and very nosey. She wants all the gossip. Reluctantly I go with her and one of the pubs is under new management. He is trying to make a go of it. The pub is in a state of mess and undergoing renovation. A part of it is open for business. We go in and he asks what I want. I ask for a pint of Guiness and it takes long while to pour and settle. The ex-wife has a half of bitter and proceeds to go around chatting at/with everyone else in the pub. I ask the landlord about his plans.

We move off to the next pub. This is more lively and all the village folk some from out of town and some born are ostentatiously getting pissed  up. The air is of forced jollity, almost an anxious jollity. This pub is better lit. The locals all stare at me. Once again the ex-wife works the room talking to everyone and gossiping about life in the village and in general. I do not see the point of it in the dream. The pub is a mess and someone needs to do a glasses round and wipe down tables. There is a hint of Christmas party and the TV in the pub is blaring away in the background. It is harsh to the senses.

I awake for some poor TV, a pill and two lion bars.

Back now in the dream I am upstairs in a retreat centre type house. It is redbrick and old. On the other side of a single track road is a chest height red-brick and flint wall behind which is a substantial weir and mill race. The river is powerful and the water deep and of a green hue due to the weeds. I know the building I am in is aligned to the old water mill. It is a part of the complex. The feel is very similar  to Llangollen. The smell is similar too; we are near mountains. I am lying on the bed with the window open. The net curtains are blowing lightly in the breeze and I can hear the deep bass rumble of the water on the weir.

I hear a key in the door downstairs and in walks Paul and Emma. (Walker). They walk through into the kitchen and I can hear the keys being thrown into a small ceramic pot / ashtray. The pot is glazed agate green. I can hear Paul complaining to Emma about me. He complains how things can be messy after I have been and that although the mess is not mine it is in response to me that the chaos and mess ensues.  He is not happy about me being there and wants me to go. His unwelcome is widely held among many people. I do not do what they deem I ought to.

I come down stairs and Paul intuits that I have heard what he has been saying. He asks if I have heard.  I affirm. He says that there is no point pretending then. I say that I am not in the least bit upset. I have something to show him. In the kitchen are plates and cutlery unwashed. He looks at them with scorn. We all go out into a walled garden and to a stand-up wooden table in a “beer-garden” private to the property and which overlooks the weir.

I say to Paul that I possess a special rare type of magic. This he doubts as otherwise I would have used the magic to clean up. I say that this magic is not of a material kind, the kind for tricks and show. I say that my magic is a special kind of magic known by some as Soul magic. This magic is of a very slow effect. It is a slow Soul magic. He is sceptical.

I hold up my left hand and a brown hen’s egg appears in it. This catches his attention. It cracks and the top comes off. It is now like a soft boiled egg ready for eating in “dippy eggs”. I say to him that my magic, the deeper magic, pertains only to the Soul. It is not mundane. In the dream he understands that the egg is a metaphor for the Souls. I say that yes I can and do work directly with the Soul(s).

The dreaming view looks down at the soft yolky egg from above and then zooms out to a side view. A small amount of yolk has run down from the egg along my fingers and onto my white inner wrist. I say that even Soul magic is of two kinds, the magic of the Souls evolving through lifetimes and that of the spark within. True magic is about the creation and enveloping of the spark within a Soular casing, the egg of lives. The ultimate magic is about liberation in which the ovoid shell, the eggy casing of the Soul is rent and evaporates only to leave the spark within and thence throughout. Soul magic is about encapsulation and liberation. It is beyond the sight of most and not to the everyday taste.

As they watch the egg starts to dissolve shimmering into space with a shimmering of tiny golden insubstantial flecks. Leaving a tiny bright yellow-orange radiant spark or flame. Which is suspended above my fingers. Paul and Emma are temporarily transfixed. They come to with a jolt and all they can see is my upstretched left hand with fingers touching from where the egg once was. They can see a small trickle of bright yellow yolk against the white inner skin of my wrist.

The dream zooms out and looks directly into the depths of the water going over the mill race weir. I know that those prone to the chaos of the West struggle to see the beautiful order and patterns of time.

I come to and feel the stiffness in my hips and lower back…

Behind Closed Doors – Nile Perch – Brockwell Park Dream Snippets 29-10-2025

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Here are last night’s dream snippets some of them are at 90 mph…

The first part of the sequence begins in London. There are various meetings going on after hours and behind closed doors in which I am somehow the subject / object of the meeting. I am somehow seen as the “problem”. There is one among male UK academics roughly of my generation. I had acquaintance of these. There is one involving people who could be seen as the generation before me and a current university VC. Of these I had passing acquaintance of one female and longer of another male, they are near end of life. The VC is only a bit older than me. There is one meeting which is part virtual with people in the USA. I have never personally met the protagonists. This has a political / intelligence flavour. There is one meeting which is distinctly Tibetan and not London based. The scenes flash by at “90 mph”. In the dream I want to say that they have done nothing which is strictly speaking illegal nor overly dodgy in the view of current normal practices and behaviour. Therefore from my point of view there is nothing to discuss, nor do they have anything which needs attention. They do not need to do anything at all.

The scene now changes to Africa. We are at a camp site near an inland lake or reservoir. We are packing up to catch the plane home. In my pocket I have a small fishing lure, a spinner, a spinning spoon around a “pole” with a tri-pronged hook. It has a small purple feather. Before we leave I would like to try to catch a “bream” or Nile perch. The man I am with draws off some line from a rod reel combination. The line is very thick and strong. I need to tie the lure on with a leader. I try time and again to attach a leader to the line. Each time I do so and give a good tug the leader comes away from the main line. I think, “clearly I am not supposed to do this”. I give up my efforts and help load the safari Land Rovers to leave.

The scene changes to Brockwell Park in Brixton a place where I frequented a lot. It has a lot of stored memories and previously emotive things for me. It was very much a part of my former London life. I am with the wife and some kind of assistant / facilitator. His job is to look after me and my wants. I show him the ponds and explain that the local schools do biology lessons therefrom. I then show him one of the large old style Brixton converted “mansions”. I say that I want to explore to see if there is any draw. To see if it reminds me of my old flat. We break in through the ground floor back door and head out of the front door. The hallway is spacious and there is no damage we easily unlock the doors. I want to head up hill to show him where I used to live. As we go uphill I see a huge building project. A whole terrace has been demolished for a park side new build. It does not look good. Further up the hill another terrace has been removed by the diggers. They have yet to uproot the very old very large trees. They will need to dig deep to make good foundations. I cannot find the building in which my old flat was. I nip into one of the new build shells and hide from the builders to take a piss in a tiny pink WC. I finish and as I leave one of the builders shouts “oi”. I say that I used to live here and was bursting for a leak. He waves me on.

As I come to I note there is no point searching for the past because it no longer exists. I note that as we were non binary about France or England the future may lie elsewhere. I also note that the reason we love this house is the garden and nature, which I may rekindle after my operation(s). I am not seeing clearly.

The dreaming sequence ends…