This dream had between 06:20 and 08:45 this morning. This out of the blue and then again perhaps not.

The dream opens in some kind of exhibition or fayre. It has a new age vibe to it and is in a large hall with high ceilings. It has an orangery feel, light and spacious. It feels close to Westminster central London, Thames. I have a small exhibit table upon which I am laying out some information. One of the posters has a background colour and design which exactly matches the table. The words therefore appear written on the table.

Along the mezzanine gallery, where I am, I spot a man a little older than me. He is wearing a windowpane light brown lined posh country hunting shirt and dark brown corduroy trousers. He is slightly balding and has allowed his hair to grow slightly. He has a mild ruddy complexion and looks completely out of place. On his table he has some maps. I know that he is military or ex-military. I go over to inquire as to why he is at this event.

As I approach it is clear that he has some prior knowledge about me, perhaps has been briefed. I ask him what he is interested in. He says subjective contact. I have a knowing that he is/was a general {perhaps major-general}.  I say that I have had subjective contact and that I am perhaps less flaky than others who might make such a claim. He imagines that I am an accidental receiver. He does not understand. He asks how I got into these things. I explain that Peter had a hand. He says without prompting that he knows Peter from the commandos and that Peter had a hand in his interest too. I ask him if he is fully retired. He says that generals never fully retire and that they continue to help out where they can. I say that he has deniability because he is no longer directly affiliated. He nods. I add that at any time he could be denied and any claimed association disproved. He is not official. He nods. I suggest that he has been sent here specifically to talk with me. He neither nods nor does not. There is a kind of acknowledgment. He is on a loose one from military intelligence (MI).

The scene changes and I am now sat in the audience of a talk at the event with Boris Johnson. We are enjoying each other’s company and he is being his public jocular buffoonery self. As suspected he is fun to talk with. But I can feel a hard driven purposeful edge behind the guise of his clowning. He too can talk freely because he is no longer implicitly associated with government. I tease him that his father paid for his accent and that now he is bored he could always become an evangelical preacher something his has the gift for. He then mimics Ian Paisley in a manner that has us both and Carrie in stitches. He has a gift for comedy.

The whole thing is frightfully, frightfully English.

On waking I think that it is odd that MI is again in my dreams. I am not surprised that there might be an interest.

The dream ends.