Here is last night’s dream.

It opens in an ethereal very white laboratory setting in which there are no walls. There are people milling about in white laboratory coats. Most of these are young. Some have pencils and pens in the coat pocket. There is a prevalence of spectacles. I am sat at a large white desk upon which are computer terminals linked into the DNA sequencer machines. I am with two younger women both wearing white lab coats, neither of which are done up. They have name-identity-security cards on deep blue lanyards around their necks. One is blond the other dark haired. They are younger than me and “official”. I am dressed in civvies, black jeans and a black cashmere jumper. My hair has a fresh buzz-cut.

The dark haired woman asks me how the genetic testing was authorised. I explain that my haemoglobin levels are high and that I have a large excess of ferritin in my blood. She nods and gestures for me to open the files on the computer in front of me. These files contain my full DNA results and parts where the study has zoomed into specific genes of concern regarding my blood and health. Before we get to the results there is a screen showing who has accessed these files. There is a list of health professionals in normal black type. Then in a box ringed in bright red and backlit is one saying D. Someone who I once was acquainted with. The files access log says that he has accessed these files illegally and without proper authorisation on a number of occasions. He has been illegally monitoring my test results. The woman asks me if I know who it is. Yes. Somehow, he has contrived illegal access. He has been snooping on my genetic testing and passing them on. It is illegal, he has been unlawful.

The scene changes to an ultramodern biochemistry laboratory on an upper floor. There are wet benches, fume hoods and instrumentation suites. Everybody apart from me is decked out in white lab coats. They are all younger than me and exude and air of quite professionalism going about their business. I enter a glass doored laboratory instrumentation suite. At the “welcome” desk there is a young man and a young woman. He asks how he might help. I explain that I need to run a sample. He shows me into to their latest machine. It is a hybrid mass spectrometer-NMR- separation machine. They are convinced that I know little to nothing about science instruments and mass spectrometry in particular. I say that before I run my sample, I need to assess the signal to noise ratio of the instrument. I inspect it.

When I am ready, I inject my sample using a micro-litre syringe into the septum at the spectrometer inlet. The results will be available in a few hours. Everyone thinks that I am a pleb, who knows nothing. The next day I return and ask to run the sample again. I have left it on the bench to oxidise overnight and that will give me an added insight into the chemical composition. The man is a bit reluctant but lets me run the sample again.

The dream ends.