Dream time

For the first time that I can remember, a hospital flavoured dream.

A large, light room. I am face down on top of some sort of contraption, a cross between an altar, a complicated bit of scaffolding and a rather odd chunk of shuttering for a rather odd chunk of concrete. About the size of a small car, perhaps a Toyota 1.0 VVT-i iQ2 3dr (see reference 1).

I have a large woolly sweater on and am worrying about getting too warm. I mildly suggest that it might be removed - not something I seem to be in a position to do myself - but the head man says rather crossly that I will have to put up it with as he can't be doing with loose belongings sculling about the place. I little later I notice my large woolly hat and my large woolly scarf, both rather expensive items, chucked in a corner of the room along with some other rubbish, no doubt to be cleared away in due course and carried off to the dumpster. I don't think it appropriate to mention the matter and it is all rather irritating.

At some point we have BH chatting cosily with one of the team about husbands who are always losing their belongings.

The second man starts to do something with my head. It feels as if he is sticking little tabs all the way round where a hat might rest, perhaps the sort of tabs that heart testers use. I am a bit puzzled as no-one had told me that anything was going to be done to my head. I don't seem to be able to talk, although I can see and hear well enough, so I can't ask what is going on.

After a while, the second man takes a break for his lunch and starts to eat his baguette, the sort of thing you might get from Upper Crust at Waterloo Station, on a table just below my head. I eye him at work on his baguette until he spots my obviously wakeful eye on him. He is a bit annoyed as he thought I was out of it and moves away to finish his baguette where I can't see him. He gets ticked off by the head man, annoyed in his turn by this lapse of etiquette.

A group of us head of for the canteen. Not at all clear how I get there as I am clearly not in a position to self-propel but there is nothing in the way of being wheeled through corridors.

After another while, back in the large bright room, face down on the contraption. Woolly sweater now off. Head man annoyed again, presumably at our absence, Somebody starts doing something to my leg. I am slightly puzzled because they usually do something to one's hand or arm at this point. At which point I wake up.

Reference 1: http://www.toyota.co.uk/ - but probably quicker just to feed the model string into google.