Mug shot. Thank you, Kathy.

    I think I noted somewhere that I need to grow my beard back; I don't like shaving really. I had a good night's sleep for once. I awoke once lying on my back, something I rarely do. I dreamed dreams: a small house like a semi-detached. I'm sitting with friends in overstuffed 1930s easy chairs, settees and armchairs. Paul McCartney comes into the room; gives me a twelve string guitar to tune. The strings are surprisingly slack but in tune. Out side the back deck looks like one attached to a house we used to live in and someone is saying, "Oh, they filmed a scene for that movie in the back garden of a house in Great Falls."  I wander to another room where a tall young man is playing LPs on a transparent vertical player, recording them to CDs. I'm driving a pick-up truck too fast along a road I know has curves and bends ahead, I brake and the road becomes a dirt track through earthworks. Huge piles of dirt and heavy earth-moving machinery dodging between me and the piles of dirt. Just as suddenly I am walking in a field of young sweetcorn stepping across the rows.