There were some ill-lit buildings in a subterranean building. There were a few Japanese men and women there. None were distinctive looking – not fat nor thin nor ugly nor handsome. I am not sure why I was there with these unsmiling people.
l lay in bed beside my child when I had this peculiar dream. I was in a shower cubicle – having a shower of course. A beige formica wall separated me from the next stall where I happened to know Margaret Thatcher was taking a shower. I did not see her or picture her as young or old. I wonder what this can mean. The water probably indicates that I soon rose from my slumbers of point Percy at the porcelain.