Aussie Photos – Ndola Zambia Job Interview Dream 23-02-2026

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Here is this morning’s dream. It is very out-of-the-blue and in terms of compare and contrast, differs markedly.

The dream opens with me wearing a photographer’s utility vest sleeveless jacket in khaki. It has multiple pockets and around my neck is a posh camera with a very large lighter coloured telephoto lens. It is pretty heavy. I am to review thousands of photos of Australia and specifically of wetlands in Queensland and Northern Territory. After I have done this I have an assignment in the Gulf of Carpentaria. The assignment is for photographing mangroves. It will be way outback and bush.

Next I am at an unspecified airport with the wife. I have an upcoming job interview at Ndola university in the Copperbelt of Zambia. I have an open old style return air ticket replete with carbon paper. I am asking the wife if she wants to come along. We need to figure out if the cost is worth it given that I may not get the job. We decide that it will be worth the hundreds of pounds because she can then input into the decision about taking the job and relocating to Zambia. I have been before she not. So we buy her an open ticket too.

Because it is all a bit rushed and last minute she is not sitting with me on the plane. L, a southerly dreamer, is somehow “around” on the plane with us. I need to have my landing documentation filled out so I go to the cockpit to speak with the captain. He is very happy to fill out my form for me. It is getting time for take-off so I leave him to do his pre-flight checks and return to my seat.

Because it is all rushed I have not made a hotel reservation in Ndola nor have I booked a hire car. I wonder what kind of “sheds” they have for hire and what state the main highway North is in. I remember it was not all that great when I was last there over forty years ago. It could prove to be a long drive.

The plane takes off and what seems like a short while later we are beginning our descent into Lusaka. I recognise it. I see a church and a river. {It is not like actual Lusaka.} We are going to land on the highway and will have to walk into the terminal building. The plane taxies. We  disembark and I note the particular pungent fecund smell of Africa.  As we enter the terminal building there is a staircase going down with a lush brown carpet on. I slide down the carpet on my bum playfully. We are in Africa so I know it will be futile to try to organise and schedule things. It will only result in frustration when that does not work. I must relax and flow, glide, with the chaos.

We go though passport control and my passport has loads of stamps in it. I have travelled widely. {In reality it is pristine new.} We get to immigration and are being cleared by a very smartly dressed black woman. She has an ornate hair-do and long decorative fingernails. She speaks excellent English with a slight Zambian accent. I am happy to be here with some familiar things such as the accent. She objects to my paperwork which the captain has done. There is no exit date. She suggests that we make one up and put it on the form. I show her the invitation to interview at Ndola university. She says to take my/our time to explore. We know we have money in the bank and that given the exchange rate we can wing-it. We make up a date and she writes it in red biro on our immigration clearance forms. Neither of us are happy with this ad-lib way of doing things. Out of the corner of my eye I see an Avis / Hertz car rental booth. The woman says that the guy there has family in all the hotels and will fix us up with a reservation in Ndola. In my mind I think that I have not yet  done full preparation for the interview, which is due tomorrow afternoon, nor have I had a confirmation email. The woman sensing this suggests that the interview time is mobile and that they will want to do hospitality things which could be very extensive. They like to welcome people to Zambia. I explain I lived here as a child. She says that the welcome home will therefore be very important. They always like to welcome people back the most. She intimates that in a sense I already have the job lined up.

The wife and I look at each other realising we are now in Africa time and African ways. I know this dream is South of the equator.

The dream ends.

Water Spirit – Misogi – Clean Water Venture Dream 22-02-2026

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Here is last night dreaming which is in two related parts.

The first part opens on the shores of an alpine lake high up in the Japanese mountains. The lake is shaped like a glacial corrie or cwm and is of a pristine light turquoise blue colour. The water is hyper transparent and crystal cold. The air is crisp. To the rear of the lake is a snow covered peak. The scenery is magnificent with Japanese acers and maples. The water from the lake leaves by a small stream over a waterfall cascade which drops twenty-thirty metres over rock to a small plunge pool. The sound of the small waterfall is melody. The ambience of the environment is close to perfection. The view down from the mountains is far reaching out to the sea.

It is ago something like a thousand years ago. I am on the shore dressed as a Buddhist priest. It is definitely me and I am Japanese. In the dream I know this to be my prior life. The smell is also characteristic of Japan. With me on the shore is a spirit warlord and a small retinue of spirit warriors. There is a Japanese woman who is of high noble family and she has her retinue of ladies in waiting and an armed guard. They are dressed in great finery. The Japanese woman is part water spirit, the nature spirit of the high lake and part woman. Because of this and her relationship with the Imperial family in Shintō she is considered the goddess of the pure waters and an embodiment of misogi or purification. The water is already pure but must also always be blessed. The spirit warlord is angry and the woman must choose to either join him back in the spirit world entirely or relinquish her spirit part and remain human. In a sense I am adjudicating.

The woman does not take kindly to the angry demands of the spirit warlord. She walks over to me and places my hand firmly on her genitals on top of her clothes. She then slips it though her clothes and I can feel her flesh. Forcefully holding my hand there she rubs herself against it until she orgasms. At which point she shudders and relinquishes her water spirit aspect. She has become human.

The warlord watching says, “so you have chosen!!” He heads off into the pristine forest with his retinue of warriors. I reclaim my hand and the woman is surrounded by her ladies in waiting who comfort her. After she recovers she asks me to do a ritual of purification, of misogi, using the waters of the lake. Although it is Shintō I know the ritual well. I have a bamboo bucket and a small bamboo ladle. Which I prepare for the ritual with water from the stream.

I wake up for a visit and a 3 AM ibuprofen.

I am now in a busy city {London} office building. It is just East of The Strand and I am due to meet some financiers / venture capitalists. They have been funding a high end water business. The idea is to create ultra niche very expensive bottled water which is ritually purified and attracts a premium price. I have been asked to look into their investment. I am with a woman in a business suit who is in a rush. She is a bit “doff your cap” to the investors and anxious. She ushers me into a room in which there a number of “suits” sat around a boardroom style expensive table. They tell me that there is a prototype purification set up and pilot line that they want me to inspect. It takes impure near sewage water and makes it top end. They know I am a chemist-scientist-technologist with an entrepreneurial background.

The scene changes and I am in a laboratory. There is a huge blown glass apparatus with many coils of glass tubing. There are two sand-clay filtration stages and a long flow tube with an ultraviolet laser photolyzing chemicals and killing residual bacteria. The throughput is small and this is what is worrying the finance people. I look at the rig and it seems fine to me. It is obvious however that if they start with such impure water the throughput must be very slow. Purification is a process that takes time and effort. If they want top-end water they must start with a source which is already very good, premium and which only needs a bacteriological cleanse.

I am due to present my findings to the committee. As I walk through the building I am told that it is shutting up for the weekend. That I need to close off the lab and give my keys to the people on the third floor. The financiers have pretty much decided that they are going to pull the plug on the investment. I know that they have totally missed the point. All they can see is high throughput. They cannot see the value of purified water blessed by the likes of me. That brand which we might call misogi can attract premium price.

I go through the emptying building and I cannot find the office where I am supposed to deposit the keys. The occupants have rushed off for their hedonistic weekend jollies of excess. I walk past the front security desk and leave the keys with the uniformed man on the desk. I exit via the revolving door onto a busy central London street.

The dreaming ends.

Born in the USA – Schuylkill County, Pennsylvania

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Following the Evans thread this morning I came upon my great grandmother Annie Morgan. Who was born in Schulkil County Pennsylvania in 1890.

In the 1891 census they are back in Aberdare. Her parents must have popped over there between 1881 and 1891…It turns out she was the first teacher in the family…

Perhaps they offered some Welsh coal mining expertise… the family is all about steel and coal.

Around forty years ago we had a visit whilst  in Wales from two American women claiming to be relatives.

Perhaps when David and Elizabeth were in Pennsylvania they were staying with relatives in or near the so called Welsh Tract…

Does this mean that I can claim American citizenship by birth?

Far out…

——————————————————————-

These below excerpted from Wikipedia

The Welsh Tract, also called the Welsh Barony, was a portion of the Province of Pennsylvania, a British colony in North America (today a U.S. state), settled largely by Welsh-speaking Quakers in the late 17th century. The region is located to the west of Philadelphia. The original settlers, led by John Roberts, negotiated with William Penn in 1684 to constitute the Tract as a separate county whose local government would use the Welsh language. The Barony was never formally created, but the many Welsh settlers gave their communities Welsh names that survive today. A more successful attempt at setting up a Gwladfa (Welsh-speaking colony) occurred two centuries later, in the Chubut Province of Patagonia, Argentina.

–

–

Thomas Holme’s 1687 map of Pennsylvania. “The Welch Tract” appears to the left of center.

Prior to the arrival of Welsh settlers, the land of what would become the Welsh Tract was inhabited by Indigenous peoples, such as the Okehocking band of the Lenape.

————-

Schuylkill County  is a county in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. As of the 2020 census, the population was 143,049. The county seat is Pottsville. The county is part of the Northeast Pennsylvania region of the state.

The county is part of the Pottsville micropolitan statistical area, and borders eight counties: Berks and Lebanon counties to its south, Dauphin and Northumberland counties to its west, Columbia and Luzerne counties to its north, and Carbon and Lehigh counties to its east. The county is approximately 47 miles (76 km) west of Allentown, the state’s third-largest city, and 97 miles (156 km) northwest of Philadelphia, the state’s largest city.

The county was created on March 1, 1811, from parts of Berks and Northampton counties and named for the Schuylkill River, which originates in the county. On March 3, 1818, additional territory in its northeast was added from Columbia and Luzerne counties.

—-

19th century

Schuylkill County was created via an Act of Assembly on March 1, 1811, from portions of Berks and Northampton counties. More land was added to the county in 1818, from Columbia and Luzerne counties. At the time of its creation, the county had a population of about 6,000.

————

The numerous jobs in the mining industry comprised a catalyst for mass immigration to Schuylkill County from the British Isles and Europe in the 19th and 20th centuries. As mines became more numerous (by 1846 there were 110 operators in the region and 142 collieries in Schuylkill County) and more complex (in 1846 there were 35 collieries below water level), mechanical breakers, steam locomotive, it became more labour-intensive both for accomplishing mining tasks and supporting mining’s peripheral industries. Such industries included manufacturing of explosives, metal screens, pump components, piping, and timber for support. This led to an influx of population into Schuylkill and other anthracite counties to fill these jobs.

Beginning with the Irish immigration in the 1840s, which was fuelled by the Great Famine and followed the end of the Civil War, immigrants from Eastern Europe, including Poles, Hungarians, Lithuanians, Slovaks, Rusyns, Ukrainians, and Belarusians (which were usually known as Ruthenians), often from the Austro-Hungarian monarchy, settled in Schuylkill County and laboured in the county coal mines. By the 1880s and 1890s, thousands of Italians immigrated to the county in pursuit of mining jobs.

Beth Evans – Female Civil Disobedience – Aussie Sausage Dream 21-02-2026

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Here is last night’s dreaming sequence. As a background I was thinking about wrapping up my foray into online family tree search this morning.

Around four AM this morning after I had gone back to sleep and taken some ibuprofen for my back. I was deeply asleep. Out of nowhere and with a clear insistence the name “Beth Evans” came to the fore of consciousness. It was specifically Beth and specifically Evans. The clarity was marked. I noted it and resolved to remember. In the dream I wondered if it referred to the Evans branch of the family of my maternal grandmother.

After a while of permanence, it drifts off.

The scene now changes to a large female led civil protest in a US city. There are women of all ages but they are mostly 30-40. They are of all ethnicities and they carry placards. They are protesting against the “macho” policing of immigration and the gun boat jack boot coercive “diplomacy” overseas where threat of violence is used. Bullying. The woman have had enough. They chant that it is small cock diplomacy. The women everywhere have had enough of this toxic “masculinity” of the right wing nationalists. Which is fear based. They are disobeying orders not to march. Parts of the protest movement are found popping up over the world.

In Australia the protesters wave sausages alongside their placards. The sausages are meant to indicate penises. It is known in the press as “the Aussie sausage protest”. The trend catches on and female protesters start to wave sausages at all their anti-jack-boot – enforcement protests.

In France there are protests against the right wing anti-immigration movement too. The women also wave sausages. I meet some women coming away from a protest in the local town. They are carrying sausages. I jokily ask if they are Aussie. They are and have emigrated here. They have been lending a hand and a sausage to the local protesters, their sisters.

Later there is a gathering with long tables and I am sat near these Aussie women. There is a gingham table cloth and food. I chat to them and explain that I am an “honorary” Aussie of a sort because of my time at the Isa.

The dream ends and I resolve to look into Beth Evans later today.

Llanfihangel y Pennant – Trail Ends – Who are You?

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Some people may think me a bit of a bastard. Well that may be true.

Tracing back along the maternal grandfather line to the village punished by the English for harbouring the fugitive Owain Glyndŵr I have come to the end of the electronic trail.

My great-great-great grandmother Catherine got knocked up as a teenager and was sent away into service {there’s shame on her mind } to a house just North of Harlech. Ten years later she was back home with my great-great-great-great grandmother Dorothy down as pauper and then washerwoman at Pen-y-bont. Catherine had three more illegitimate children over the years. Catherine’s son my great-great grandfather was initially down as a Hughes. With my great-great-great-great grandmother down as mother at age 47…

No doubt the likes of:

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John Hughes 1813-1878 Hen Gapel Nant Gwynant a Oerddwr uchaf

—

Might not have approved of Catherine. I don’t think he is a direct bloodline relative but he looks dour and fire and brimstone.

Imagine a Welsh preacher’s accent…

“You shall burn in the fire pits of hell for your lustful and dire sinful transgressions!!!”

My great-great grandfather stayed with Dorothy until he got married. Suddenly in 1871 she was living in a more posh house and he had converted to Jones.

Later Catherine was found living as a widow, though she never married, with a John P Jones {head of family} and her fourth child. She is down as sister to John which may have eased the gossip in Ffestiniog.

I suspect that he was the knocker-upper and hence my great-great-great grandfather…

In 1827 Dorothy may have married Hugh at Llanfihangel y Pennant. She was already a widow in 1841.

–

–

Should I wish to research further I need to visit this isolated church north of Dolbenmaen. The roads here are poor and single track.

The trail ends here. There is an impasse.

In 2007 I looked into taking over the lease of an outdoor centre then owned by Hillingdon Council in order to run an outdoor training centre and place of retreat. The lease was encumbered by various Lottery grant rules and was a nightmare. I suspect the rules have lasped.

It has since been bought and refurbished as Brynkir Coach House

Click here

Back then I met the land owner also a Jones in Beddgelert. He was clearly a big cheese. Jones’s family had sold a part of Snowdon to the National Trust. He was maybe a distant relative

Brynkir, known as Cwm Pennant is just down the valley from Llanfihangel y Pennant.

Maybe one day I’ll swing by the church and ask to look at the register of births, marriages and deaths… I can look at the graves. They were probably too poor to trouble the monumental mason

The trail ends here.

I have a working narrative that is self-consistent now.

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!!”

Dragon’s Eyes –  Y Ddraig Goch

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———–

Eyes closed,

In his homeland,

On the spare bed,

He exhaled.

–

Sunk into the depths of his being,

Waiting.

–

The darkness breaks

And…..

 –

Old,

Very old,

He saw it.

 –

He saw it,

Waiting.

—

Quickening of breath,

Huh, huh, huh,

It began to form.

–

Summoning the dragon to guide him.

–

Those eyes….

They watched him.

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 Patience and waiting.

 –

He touched its power,

Felt it absorb him,

His him probed with an awareness.

 –

Alien and ancient.

– 

Terror, blind terror.

– 

Lithe and poised

Those eyes….

 –

Wise beyond wisdom

Since the first days of man

And beyond.

–

 Amused and laughing,

In smoke.

 –

He held it and the fire in his heart

Began to burn.

 –

The crows outside called

Their battlefield cry,

Hungering for food

 –

Taken on the caw to another time.

——-

 Heathered hillside,

In the mist of lore

The dragon breath cloaks

Shimmering in be-coming.

–

 Hessian cloth upon his skin

Staff in his hand,

Rain in his beard

And silence in the world.

 –

Weary

Proud

Beaten

Defiant

– 

Behind him,

They marched,

From their deaths to their deaths,

– 

They reached the place

And settled on the rocks.

– 

Less faces than before

Heads hung on Castle gates.

– 

And those eyes.

– 

Why must they stand and die?

– 

Doubts, oh the doubts

They plagued him

– 

It hangs all on the next few seconds.

–

 The dragon’s dice have been rolled

His fate is sealed.

 –

What was it that the wizard said?

–

 “Re-member, re-member.

Focus on the feelings for that is what you store.

The memory will guide you back

Learn the lessons well….

 For next time”

 –

He reached into his pack and took it out.

He tied the flag to his staff.

Silently and into the circle he walked.

 –

He planted his staff and unfurled the flag.

 –

Y Ddraig Goch.

—

Look to the Dragon’s eyes my friends

And see there your courage, your faith and your hope.

Let it conjure in you.

Feel its ancient force.

–

Written in the hillsides and the valleys of your lives,

Washed through your rivers,

Permeating your being-ness with the dragon’s fire.

–

Pure magic.

If we believe, though we are few, we can call the dragon to our aid.

 –

We are an ancient race and we have been here long.

We have sung our songs and shared our poems.

We have laughed and we have cried.

We have learned.

–

 This is now our last battle.

———-

This from a series of dreams and visions I had around 2002-3…

Myrddin’s Treasures – Merlin’s Treasures

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–

The warrior hunts for power, and one of the finest ways of hunting power is dreaming.

Dreams are not just dreams; dreams are based upon reality – a reality that exists beyond your thoughts.

Toltec Dreaming Aphorisms – Théun Mares

Myrddin’s Treasures.—Local tradition is content with leaving the story of the interval between Vortigern’s departure, and that of Myrddin’s, to pass into oblivion, but describes the manner of his leaving his famous stronghold in the following interesting way.

Myrddin remained in Dinas Emrys for some time, until he was joined by Aurelius Ambrosius, who induced him to go away with him. When they were about to set out, Myrddin placed all his treasures in a large golden vessel, hid the vessel and his golden chair in a cave in the city, and then rolled on the mouth of the cave a huge stone. He then covered the whole over with earth and green turf, so that no one could possibly come across it. It was his intention that this wealth should become the possession of some one in particular, belonging to a future generation. Tradition adds that the heir will be a golden-haired and blue-eyed stripling, and that when he draws nigh to Dinas Emrys, a bell will ring to invite him into the cave, which will open out, of its own accord, as soon as his foot touches it.

———–

Young Hopeful and Dinas Bell.—The story of the strange dreams of the old bachelor had raised great hopes within the breasts of his relatives, that one of their kin would be the destined heir of the ” great treasures.” One of his sisters had a son, who was a tall, fine-looking young man, and the very image of his uncle. When a child he used to frequently hear of his uncle’s strange dreams, and his boyish breast swelled with pride at the thought of his being one of the family of the “great treasures.” When the child grew up to be a young man, and people continually told him that he was almost exactly like his uncle, he used to wish every night that he would get the same dream, and see the same vision, as his uncle. He was far from being timid ; indeed, he seemed as if he had inherited his uncle’s share of courage in addition to his own. But with all his wishing, the dream never came.

One night, however, when passing the Dinas about midnight— the hour appointed for the rightful heir to enter into his inheritance,—when right opposite the middle of the hill, he thought he heard a bell ringing. He stopped, and he heard the bell ringing again. He became all ears, and, as he listened, he thought he could hear a voice calling, “Come here.” Then the bell rang the third time, and, leaping over the wall, he went in the direction of the sound. Now the bell began to ring in real earnest, and to move on before him. He followed after the sound through the trees, in the dark, as far as Beudy Bedd Owen, then through the hazel copse to the top of the hill, and in a field called ” Y Rofft,” the ringing ceased. He then paused to listen for a few minutes, and the bell began to ring and move on again. Once more he followed after it, and at last he seemed to be drawing nearer and nearer to the sound—a fact which greatly strengthened his faith that he was at last being led to the treasures. The ringing ceased right under the ridge which is immediately behind Hafod y Forth, and he had no doubt but that the cave was quite near. He made straight for the ridge ; but when he came up to the dark object in front of him, a black hand-fed calf gave a leap and darted by him, furiously rattling an old bell which hung by the cord around its neck. As he had never seen a calf carrying a bell, he immediately concluded that he had seen a ghost and ran home as fast as his feet could carry him. He related his experience to his family, who, when they understood what the midnight bell-ringer was, made endless fun of his folly.

The treasures are still hidden in the secret cave, and a jealous spirit keeps a continual watch on behalf of the rightful heir. Knowing this, can any one wonder at people trembling in passing Dinas Emrys by night, or at their feeling a cold perspiration trickling down their foreheads as what in the daytime would be a wood-pigeon whirls by them, or an owl gives forth a mournful cry—each of which at night-time is a ghost, the guardian spirit of the treasures of Dinas Emrys ?

  • Gold is the dreaming symbol for spirit or nagal.

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.