Waking with visions that the cold and ice will last forever.
A caterpillar approaches at a rapid pace, not inching but doing flick flacks. It grins and says "hey cats."
There are no cats.
"Hey cats, what is pertaining? Is this the right place for a Hawksmoor Baguette Processionary to pitch a chrysalis?"
Well I have no idea whether I am awake or not now. Talking caterpillars weren't on my list of things to expect before sunrise, unless they're on the infinite-impossible list. Turning round three times I then fall over, this is a very convincing lucid dream if that's what it is.
"Hey cats!"
So I engage what essentially looks like a Slinky in conversation.
It is happy to talk about the weather, who should play up front for Plymouth Argyle - it's a big fan of the Pilgrims - and what a peculiar bias towards big business the media think is important in politics. Entertaining briefly, then I remember I need to make sandwiches before trolling off to work. I politely excuse myself and wish the creature a good day.
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