Last night I dreamt I was in Manderley. Ok, so that’s a lie. Last night I had a particularly unpleasant dream. I was living amongst a family in the American South. We were farmers, after a fashion. Okie-chic. For reasons unknown, instead of a guard dog, the farmhouse was protected by a mountain lion. A raggedy, mangy lion, but a lion nevertheless. It didn’t like me and I lived in constant fear of it.
One evening I was caught out and I had to hide in a barn, where the rest of the family were. In the scramble to get everyone in, I rotated a Myst-style wheel and to my horror instead of locking the door I was facing it actually operated a door on the other side of the barn — letting the lion in. And after the chaos (which I won’t describe but wasn’t very pleasant) one of the women in the group discovered two baby’s legs in a aluminium washing tub. Not nice.
