I was walking along a pier with the sea on one side, and gift shops on the other. It was a coldish summers day, a typical British seaside, but nowhere in particular. It smelt like fishy ice cream and sounded of noisy children and even noisier gulls. I wondered idly into a little shop that sold crab shells and glass beads and dream catchers. I remember vividly picking up a tiny dried seahorse when I suddenly realised, for the first time in my whole life, I was aware of the fact I was dreaming. I new it wouldn’t last long and I would wake soon so I acted fast. I turned and ripped a metal rack off the wall that was holding beaded bracelets and threw it as hard as I could at the jolly old lady behind the till.

… I’m not a violent person in real life, I suppose that’s why I did it?