Last night I had a strange dream. Anne was away and I was on a bus in Courtney Place just getting ready to alight on my way to Fiona and Rob’s Mt Victoria place for dinner. [Fiona and Rob live in Palmerston North and have for years. Fiona once had a flat in Mt Vic.] I had caught the bus and as it was full had been standing. I was active and strong.
There was an explosion.
When I came to I was in another bus full of uniformed school-boys all speaking with post English accents. We were driving past green fields with bluebells in the hedgerows. Very picturesque but I had trouble standing, invisible forces seemed to be holding me down. We passed a signpost pointing to Weston-super-Mare.
I managed to work out the police had ordered us to be evacuated from London. Why or how was unanswered. Feeling helpless I just sat there while the bus gathered speed. Bewildered how I’d got to England and why I had lost all power I awaited the inevitable crash.
I can see some connections. I had an email from Fiona yesterday. I had mentioned bluebells in a recent blog. I’d been reading back over my diary on Anzac Day – a few years ago I was unaware of my muscular degeneration. But why England? Weston-super-Mare? I woke this morning with a strong sense of confusion.
The Bookman is away
3 days ago