What appears to be the torso of an unidentified large sea creature is brought up from the depths and laid out on a bed in my mother’s house – I have to gather up the long, trailing intestines, as thick as a human leg, and lay them on the bed beside the creature. I go out and forget this has happened, then come back and realise with a jolt that it is still there. My mother berates me for leaving the creature to die, though it looks no more (or less) dead than it did before. The name “Hermione” is associated with this part of the dream – I’d been reading about David Bowie (“Letter to Hermione”) and about H.D. (“HERmione”) the previous day, and also about ambergris in whale intestines.
Later, I’m possibly in Cork, trying to get out of a large building full of energetic children milling around – I am with a nice French woman. We follow the crowd, hoping to find the exit, but take a wrong turning and lose everybody. We are told that the exit we need is via the roof garden restaurant, so we go that way. The waitress asks if I am in a hurry: I say that I have a train to catch, but not till 11pm, which is five or six hours away. The waitress recommends that we eat here, at the Michelin starred restaurant, and we agree at least to have pudding. I ask for a pesto ice-cream, and afterwards notice that I am speaking French – “Not really,” says the French woman. There is a brief romantic possibility, then I wake up with an erection and have to get up to pee.