The Unbelievable Whiteness of Seeing

I had a dream last night that it snowed. Heavily. We couldn't get out of the house because it had drifted all the way up to the windows, and the horrible thing was, that all our food was in the fridge, which for some reason (just because dreams work this way, I guess) was at the bottom of the garden, and unreachable. Mathew, who had a moustache, kept asking for coco pops and kombucha, and Rian's nappy was so full that he was four feet off the floor from the sheer size of it, and we couldn't change him because the clean nappies were also in the fridge... Philippa needed to get to a patient somewhere because she had his insulin and he would be dead within an hour, and I was facing the sack because Gavin was at the caravan park waiting for me, and he was in shorts and T-shirts and refused to believe that we had been hit by a blizzard, as he was standing in lovely sunshine. I was panicking and feeling that everything was falling apart and that it was all my fault and that if I could only get the heater working in the car, all would be well.

I was so convinced that it was real that when I was getting ready for work this morning, I put on my old Winter parka and got my wellies out of the cupboard, only to hear my wife say, "What the **** are you doing?" And she gave me that 'pained spouse' expression that she gets sometimes and that makes me feel very small and unworthy. So I wish I had dreamt that bit too, really.

RC 18-3-24