Last night a Harry Potter movie kind of dream:
first day of the year back at my old boarding school, unpleasantly
clear to me as if I'd never left - kids rushing about shouting and
pushing one another.
I'm making - unlikely - an arrangement to go out to dinner with an
old friend. Will we go in his car or mine? But first must find out
what room I have been allocated.
The information is on a very small rotating drum in a glass case set
low down, about knee height, with three rows of names in red ink on a
band of paper that passes round a small spindle, I peer at it
hopelessly, short-sightedly, can't see my name there, can hardly make
out any of the names. I begin to grumble about the poor signage, and
wonder why I'm there, at my age.