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Well now, I seem to be holding a rugby ball. Ah, I seem to be wearing a rugby kit and standing on a rugby pitch. I am the last man then and there are a fair few number of people running towards me. What do they want? Hmmm, they seem to be on the opposing team because we have on different kits. Aha! I am playing for Wales, possibly, and my old man is cheering me on from the sidelines. I run forward and hoof the ball towards the forwards – yes I realise that this is an offside but no whistle is blown so no worries – our team picks it up and we score.
The ball comes back to me and again I am the only one back here. Two opponents run at me as I run at them, charging headfirst into the chest of the one on the left…

…next we seem to be off celebrating but I do not want to be caught up in the world of rugby players playing stupid games and drinking and being obnoxious so I make my excuses and after arguing and saying I really really am not interested in having any more to do with them I manage to escape into celebrations of a different kind. Yes, it is a work Christmas party which would normally be cause for much boredom and awkward talking to management but as I stumble through the rooms I find a healthy amount of bacchanalian and libertine behaviour going on. For some reason this seems to involve Mr Stephen Fry and Mrs Jo Brand caught in some Victorian sexual activity of some kind. Not a pretty site I promise you. Egads! I move on, sharpish.

At some point I either recall, or I find myself in, a drinks do in a bookshop come free house between Lymington and Brockenhurst. We celebrate the launch of a new book and Mr Fry is present (and thankfully correct and decent) to give a small talk. Then I find myself back at the Xmas party where a group of three girls ask me if I am a dealer, “I regret to say that I am not ladies, however, I will do my utmost to assist you in your search” after a round of drinks I move on through the palace, staircases leading at all angles to new bars and drinking corners hidden away at all levels, all rooms cut into and out of stone, wooden seating crammed in wherever possible and walls festooned with deep velvets and wispy patterned silks.
I sit down with another group after that who drink cocktails served out of a bowl with flowers floating in it – I pick up an alcohol soaked bloom and swallow it down. This group of lads ask me if I want to join them to ample some ‘special’ cakes later on, although they do not know where to go for this, I say I would be delighted to and then seeing the girls from earlier I wave them towards this table.
Afterwards I start discussing with a girl who may be called Izzy that I have twice died. I recount the story of running into a lifeguards chair from when I was 7 – this was the first time I officially died, the next I was turned off somehow and then was turned back on again somehow. Soon after saying this – whilst sitting on the side of a swimming pool – I suddenly find myself dieing again, then dead. Before death I manage to tell them to fetch Stephen Fry from the bookshop – he will know how to revive me. After a few minutes of death he arrives and passes a small screwdriver to a policeman who hammers it gentle onto a switch located on my left buttock – I am alive again! The girl seems relieved so I say to her that she has given me reason to live and we fall in love.

Was it after that or before where I was trying to build a rocket out of the deep snow that had fallen to the field opposite? I forget, but I didn’t manage it – the field was strewn with books which warmed the snow too fast for me to finish. Books and guinea pigs? That sounds familiar… After that I walk back with my Mum who is saying she might well buy a new flat where ever it is we are walking – I think its North London –she says it’s a nice area and I agree. Instantly disproving us a man drags the frozen stiff and ill figure of a leaking dog along on a leash – the animal looks stuffed but is obviously just very ill because of maltreatment at the hands of this owner. He pulls a gun from his pocket as we increase our paces walking away from him. I worry that he will shoot me but I suspect that he is going to put the dog out of its misery by the side of the road…