Details of dreams fade fast, once you wake up, but let's see, at this early hour, if I can record some of this one from which Chris has just woken me. It was, as always, a dream about travelling. We were in a "Cloudhopper" hotel in Paris with George. I'd had trouble remembering the name of the hotel, but got it in the end. Rob and Sally had just confessed to us that they had just paid $50 for a taxi fare from their hotel opposite the art gallery in Ottawa to a restaurant on the next block. "That is ridiculous," I'd said.
Neither Chris, George nor I had remembered to pack trousers for our trip to Paris, although we wanted to sight-see from one of the posh modern skyscrapers nearby, but to my surprise a notice in the hotel room written in Dutch ... something about Undemokratie ... advertised that spare clothes would be provided if we had forgotten any. I ordered the three pairs of trousers from reception and they were soon delivered to our rooms above the swimming pool (full of children), but they were unusable, too long and narrow, and coloured pink!