It must be the antibiotics; I dozed between sleep and wakefulness this morning dreaming of being kept prisoner in a damp, cold stone room with large flagstones on the floor and some hay in the corner for my bed. I had no window, just an arrow slit in the thick walls where I could hear hammering and knocking and men shouting. There was a rumbling sound as if heavy machinery was being moved along a gravel road... I awoke. The hammering was still there, so too the sound of heavy machinery; the builders had started work early, and the dust-cart was emptying the bins outside. Not a flagstone in sight and my bed was not made of hay. I lay there for a while, reaffirming the reality of my life, time and place. I was not a maiden in distress locked away in a castle tower, nor were there Trebuchets on the horizon ready to hurl fireballs. Perhaps my subconscience was saying that I need to be rescued from my current situation... who knows? In my mind I rattled off all the good things about my existence; I am secure, have a nice home, have wonderful daughters, two peculiar but loveable cats, am in good health, (apart from my inflamed teeth), I have a car and live in a particularly beautiful part of England. This is more than a lot of people have, so why the dream?
Some of my weirdest dreams have materialised whilst under medication or with a high temperature. Years ago, I lay in a hospital bed, recuperating from a major operation; dosed up with Pethadine and coming round from a deep sleep, when I imagined a fire engine speeding towards me and about to run me down. I remember my heart thumping in my chest and woke up suddenly to see the Tea Trolley coming to a stop by my bed. "Cup of tea, Love?"
