Then to bed where I had strange dreams, most likely the result of the 'flu jab. This time I'd taken to rod and line fishing from the back door in the river that flowed right outside. I caught several large fish and then, unaccountably, a monstrous carp which grew legs and scuttled into the dark space behind the range. Dolly the Mega-cat came to my rescue and dragged the pesky thing out even though it was considerably larger than she. I woke before learning if we'd eaten the beast. It would have made good eating.

I’m having a whole series of strange, disjointed dreams this past week. I almost said ‘enjoying’, and would have if the cumulative effect wasn’t enervating and, very slightly, disorientating.

For one thing, I’m always younger in my dreams and it’s awfully good to be striding through fields and forests rather than shuffling along looking for safe points to lodge my stick. And it’s certainly the only way I get to walk up a mountain.

It’s a combination of inactivity and unsuitable diet, I suspect. No great issue. It’ll pass, and the only reason I record it is because that’s what I do. Record things.

I had the fire kindling dream again. The one where either Graham or myself sets a match to the kindling on a hearth, bringing fire to a house that’d sat cold and forlorn for a while.

Not a great while, for it wasn’t dilapidated. Just cold.

And, later, whether in the same dream or some other dalliance I do not know, I dreamt we were enjoying hot buttered scones fresh from the gradell, washed down with fresh-brewed tea from an iron kettle.