A dream in three parts

The first dream which I have remembered for a few days. A dream in three parts, one part vaguely associated to a house in which we used to live and one part probably partly triggered by the narrow, deep shops that seem to be common hereabouts. A dream which did not involve anyone that I consciously know and which seems now to have been vivid enough, but in monochrome. In grey scale rather than colour. In tone generally rather grey, old & shabby. Some speech.

In part 1, I want to send some parcels and for some reason I go to a print shop to get this done, something which they do not seem to think is odd. The sort of print shop which does letterpress with moveable type, not big white boxes labeled Xerox and Kodak. Old and shabby. I get rather concerned about whether they are going to get it right and very concerned about whether they are going to include slips telling the recipients from whom the parcels have come. Only towards the end of the part do I start to think that it might have been easier to wrap the parcels up myself and take them to the post office. I do have supplies of brown paper.

In part 2, I have some builders in the house replacing the outside tap on the outside wall of the kitchen which overlooks the large back garden. Lots of builders in old blue overalls & such like and with much grunting & swearing. Lots of rather large and unusual - not to say fantastic - tools. Eventually they get the tap off the wall, a tap which has now got a piece of curved sheet steel attached to it. Old and battered. Everyone stands around nattering.

In part 3, I am having some work done in a shop which I want to open in a small town somewhere, perhaps to sell second hand books. A shop with a complicated double sided glass front, with the door set back between the two fronts, rather like those old fashioned drapers who wanted to show off as much as possible in their front windows. A shop which is very deep. Very old & shabby. Some of it draped with battered old carpets. Some of it shut off with scaffold boards. Various fantastic catering contraptions about the place, bubbling away, a contrast to everything else in that they are new. All very unsafe. Lots of builders hanging about, in particular the project manager. The shop is sort of furnished but otherwise bare and I start to worry about how I am going to stock the place up. I lock the front door, with the builders still inside and with some difficulty as the lock seems to be deeply embedded in the wood of the door.

Wake up.