It gets worse

Just woken up from a Norwich flavoured dream, although as with the night before, the association seems to bear but little on the remembered content.

I was on a shopping expedition, a few errands at least, in town centre. One of which involved checking the status of an order for some fish soup from the food department of the local department store. I try to find the food department to find myself among a bevy of young ladies modelling swim wear. There are also some animated wooden models of large animals, the sort of models made out of shapes cut out of plywood and slotted together (see reference 1 for small versions of the sort of thing I mean). Give up on the food department and exit to the street, worrying about the soup.

Find myself in the old town. All ups, downs, odd stream beds and old brick buildings. (Note that there are stream beds and old brick buildings in Ashburton, but there was no association to that town, despite our recent visit). Buy a second hand, hard back book for about a pound.

Discover that my wallet has almost fallen out of my pocket, the wrong one as it happens. Fish it out to find that it is an old wallet, chucked away long ago, now containing various bits of old rubbish, the sort of thing one finds in old tobacco tins at car boot sales. Discover my current wallet at the bottom of the right pocket, a bit battered and empty. No credit cards, no cash. Furthermore, I have forgotten to bring my telephone with me so I can't phone help for help, or even ask Cortana.

Find my way onto a bus and explain my predicament. The bus driver does not want to share his map (I am having trouble remembering where I live, having not been there very long) but he is willing to wait while I rummage through the large number of coins that have turned up to find enough English. He won't take all the euro stuff. Eventually a fellow passenger helps me out with a couple of pound coins which he claims, to help my feelings, to have found among my change. Bus sets off.

I still have very little idea where I want to be, beyond it being top right. Costessey top left and I want top right. Somewhere to the right of the newish estate, between Newmarket Road and the Eaton Golf Course, where I used to live (dream geography getting very mixed up here). In a house which I have visited in dreams before, although not recently. A modern, detached house, more or less the standard three bedroom sort but somewhat altered from new, sitting in the middle of its square garden, rather, that is, than near the front of the usual long garden.

Bus drops me off at a park, still very much in town. Hilly streets full of rushing water, far too much to attempt to walk in or cross. Emergency services rushing about. Lots of volunteers being helpful. Clip boards. I get a lady volunteer to show me her not very good map which stops short of where I think I want to be. Starting to get worried now about house, home & family, although I also vaguely remember that we chose a house on something of a hillock on something of a slope, with flood risk in mind. (I remember now that FIL was very flood conscious when he and his bought houses. Don't now know why).

Head off to the north east. Deserted streets. Lots of water. I head up a street with a large red/brown brick building without windows on my left. Perhaps a disused cinema. Blocked by water and I have to retrace my steps.

Wake up.

PS: I have just remembered once sitting in a pub somewhere in Norwich, on a hill. There was so much water in the drain under the road that it was pushing the round man hole cover, one of those heavy cast iron affairs, out of its seating, making a short fat fountain underneath. But what provoked such a watery dream on this occasion? There has been very little rain for the last week or so and certainly no rivers in flood.

Reference 1: https://www.ancientwisdom.biz/w3dpuzz.