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Thirty One

The dream below, a very current one, combines a brief mention of the Mostyn Gallery, a recollection of seeing Peter Sallis, and my brief annoyance at a four star hotel for having no locks on their toilet doors, though a man didn't walk in. It is another Asda dream. Depressing. I think it is because I remembered that I left there over a year ago. It is also the second dream I have had involving an art show in a supermarket. Any way;

'I am shopping with a small old man, who may or may not be Peter Sallis. He roams aimlessly, pointing things out like the fact some of the crisps are called Jorges Borges – which I remark is pretty classy for a supermarket . Zoe is also there, looking for baking stuff which they don't have. Also, a faint hint of some mad woman at the old style deli. There is a closed art show in the space where George once was. In the toilets, a man walks in on me as I finish taking a shit. I grab him by the neck and throw him in to a mirror, breaking it. 'Have a bit more fucking courtesy,' I yell at him. He looks at me, blood dripping from a cut above his eye, and says 'Try locking the fucking door.'

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