Dreaming...
I have three recurring dreams.
The first dates from my wartime childhood; it consists of watching the funeral of Neville Chamberlain as it goes along our landing; I see it clearly through the crack in the door. Where it begins and where it goes is not revealed, but he is clearly recognizable as he lays in his open coffin.
The second began more recently, well relatively so. I am sitting or lying in bed, or eating at the dining table, or sitting or working in one of the other rooms and it is raining; through the ceiling of whichever room it is, but not outside.
The third concerns a prison. I am admitted through a gatehouse at the bottom of a hill as a visitor or guard and, as I climb up the winding drive to the main prison buildings, past the derelict hanging shed, I change status and I become a prisioner.
What's up doc?
