Nothing thrilling, but recording them in the attempt to acquire better recall.

In the first dream I remember I was with my mother, grandmother and possibly other family members. We were to view the interior of a basilica, however, we had delayed ourselves and the basilica was officially closed; however, a guard told us that we could still go into a chapel, which was inside the main building, from which we would be able to see the rest but not walk around it. The interior looked like a large, ordinary modern building, perhaps a conference centre, with a bit of gold mosaic on the upper walls. Despite my mother’s exhortations to look at this I was more interested in painting some pottery or papier-mache animals that were in the chapel. I am visiting my grandmother tomorrow, which probably accounts for her presence in the dream.

In the second dream I was back at school, ostensibly in the mansion house, though the corridor was modern. Some sort of a reunion was taking place. My friend Indrani was there, and her favourite teacher, and mine, a Glaswegian woman who taught English. She was pretty fierce but an excellent teacher, who showed more of her human side and sense of humour as you went up through the grades. She and Indrani were chatting like old friends and I wondered whether this teacher had ever, in fact, liked me at all - or something along those lines.

I lost contact with Indrani when she moved back to India and married. She is one of the few people from school who I still think about - our long devotional conversations about David Bowie; her monologues about Jim Morrison and, memorably, the lumbar curve of the male geography teacher; the day she had her fabulously long black hair cut off; the very soggy fried rice we cooked in the senior students’ kitchen; and things that I had better not write here. I hope fate will bring our paths together again sometime.

Next night: quite a long dream, from which I only remember a snippet. Without really wanting to I was going to get a Thai tattoo. It would be in the middle of my upper back, where my neck joins my shoulders. I chose a piece of worn-down translucent, amber coloured soap out of a bag at the tatooist’s stall to demonstrate the size. He was young, good looking and friendly. I think he had charmed me into getting a tattoo. However, when I looked at his flash art I didn’t see anything I really wanted. There was a picture of a masked Venetian which I quite liked, but didn’t want it as a tattoo.