Perchance to dream

I read somewhere recently that if one was not sure whether one was dreaming or not, there were certain tests you could do to find out. You could get yourself to do things in your mind or in your dream that dreams were not very good at - and then, if whatever it was did not work out, you knew that you were dreaming. I think one of these tests may have involved turning the pages of a book, when the pages, while looking page like, do not update.

While this morning, I have just woken up from a dream which contained various elements which had not been computed properly.

The house had been broken into and while some of the boxes to do with the supply of electricity and communications had been visibly interfered with, nothing appeared to have been stolen. I thought to report this rather odd matter to the police, so off down to the local police station, in Epsom. First point of interest, Epsom has not had a police station for some years and we are now served from far-away Staines.

I get there to wait my turn, a wait which looked to be of some hours, in a large rectangular waiting area, not unlike that in a hospital or an airport, complete with a desk, refreshments, chairs and tables. Or, indeed, the one in the US embassy at Grosvenor Square where you wait when you are getting your visa. See reference 2.

For some reason I had our wooden step ladder with me, a family heritage item, complete with a modest amount of wood worm damage, and part of the dream was about finding somewhere to put it while I waited. No idea why it was there, as I have not used it for a couple of weeks or more and it had no speaking lines, as it were, in the dream at all. But the feel of the thing as I carried it along in my right hand, hanging down by my side, was very vivid, distinctive and realistic; spot on. And thinking aloud, the hand part of the dream may have been a product of seeing artists in the circus a couple of days ago doing very clever things with their forearms, wrists and hands; the ladder might just been a prop for a bit of hand action more appropriate to me than a circus turn. More of that in due course.

The second point of interest, was an announcement over the public address system for one Florian Eustace (which name I use in place of that of a real acquaintance), but the announcement asked for Florian, plain and simple. And while hospital staff who do not know you from Adam have an irritating habit of using your first name in a matey way, an irritating habit which has become less irritating over the years of frequenting such places, first name was not right in this context. The announcement would have been for Florian Eustace or for Mr. Eustace - while in the family we do talk of Florian plain and simple.

The point of the announcement was that Mr. Eustace had a visitor, whom I knew without being properly told to be from Amnesty International. I tried to catch Mr. Eustace's eye, but failed; he was lost, together with his visitor, in the throng. I think knowing without being told is OK, certainly in a dream: one can't expect all the loose ends to be tidied up.

After various other goings on, I realised that I was going to be very late for lunch, without prior notice I was going to be in trouble, and I abandoned reporting the break-in in favour of getting a bus home. I worried in the dream about how to get home quickly from Epsom Town where the bus would probably drop me off. I tried to phone in, but for some reason which I no longer remember, I did not get very far with that.

Third point, I had forgotten to pick up the step ladder.

Fourth point, I seemed to be getting the bus from half way to Epsom Downs, a long way beyond where the police station used to be.

PS: small prize for the reader who knows where Florian really comes from. There are some clues to be found by careful reading in the other place, at reference 1.

Reference 1: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/search?q=eustace.

Reference 2: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/search?q=consular+officer.