My other self and I are negotiating a pile of cards. Each card is coded with a grid of parallel lines. Amongst them are two identical cards which can only be used once. He wants to take mine but I won't let him. There is an uneasy tension.
Like a great revolutionary orator, a Polish artist addresses a crowd in front of Somerset House. He storms towards a shop window smashing the glass. Inside is a block of an extremely unstable substance at which he hurls a handful of coarse salt. A poisonous vapour is emitted.
How can he do this and survive I wonder?
The audience is spellbound and flocks towards him in admiration. Everyone now has their face bandaged as protection from the fumes.
I am furious with my friend. We are supposed to be driving our flying car but she got waylaid taking instructions from someone with an old A to Z. What particularly annoys me is that I have missed out looking at the illustrations in this rare 1964 edition. There is a small engraving of Lots Road from that time when it was nothing more than twigs and weeds.
I am shifting an unwieldy pile of cardboard boxes loosely bound together to form an ugly sculpture. Hanging at the bottom are two loose boxes which somehow represent testicles. My long dead aunty offers to help me carry this home. Bundling the boxes together, I thank her and tell her I can manage alone.