O, to be in England

Another dream. A cinematic one with a strong, if disjointed, story line. We are guests in a small cottage or hotel on the south coast of England. The front porch opens out on a wild bay with extreme tides. (Think 'Wuthering Heights'.) There is a small parlor furnished in a vaguely Edwardian style – lace curtains over the mullioned windows, antimacassars on the armchairs, a potted plant or two (an aspidistra perhaps?). I help another guest move a loveseat from one sunny room to a cozy crowded library where several guests sit and chat. Our hosts are an elderly couple we appear to have known a long time. One of the guests is a white-bearded sea-captain à la the old actor Monty Woolley, whose ancient Austin or Morris van I drive downtown. Yet another is a handsome young politician with a ready smile and charming ways. (The fellow in this dream may have been inspired by television coverage of a certain embattled governor currently in the news.) He smokes incessantly and crushes cigarette stubs on the polished parquet floor. There are dozens of crushed stubs all over the place. This part is so vivid that in my dream I even smell the cigarette smoke. A younger woman by my side has a deep tan and great legs. She objects to the pall of cigarette smoke in the air. A maid sweeps up the butts, but the smell lingers. The hotel guests all go down to the beach as the tide recedes with remarkable speed. There is a beautiful sunset. I point out to my companion the marks on the cliff face left by the tides or the Deluge. We feel anxious about the return of the tide, which could come about at any time. People are swimming in the bay, carelessly ignoring the danger. The politician is hitting on the young woman. I use the van to drive a guest into town. A police car passes by as I struggle with the unfamiliar gearshift. The rear of the van is open, and its interior is filled with all manner of junk including an elephant's tusk and a kettledrum (this is the sea-captain's old van). On return to the parlor it is teatime. Smoke billows from a small oven left unattended. I help put the fire out, and a lady rescues the food. There is a sound of thunder, and rain begins to pelt against the windows. I turn to my companion to offer my opinion of English weather. She smiles. The End.

(Will there be a sequel?)

Happy New Year to all.

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