The Totnesian Experiment

My friends adoptive parents are playing back messages they recorded to him as a child. They think he is chinese and the message is a bit racist. There’s a jury of young people there. Two are Chinese.

 This, it turns out it was part of the Totnesian Experiment. Children where given to adoptive parents, who already knew exactly how they would emerge from the experience.
I am a Richie Rich/Willie Wonka hybrid. I create new flavours and make money from them, this goes into property development. My father is amazed and overwhelmed at my success.
14°c and snowing. I am walking with an elderly couple, trying to ease their passage through the deep snow. A tank blocks the way. I move it and we cut across a field where the Dunkirk evacuations are happening. An officer identifies us as British civilians and hurries us to get on board one of the boats.
I am upstairs and in a shed. There’s a snowy gale blowing outside. I hear voices. When I open the door it’s just dad with a wheelbarrow automaton device designed to make noises like speech. He is disappointed. I am not supposed to be in the shed. There is an icecream freezer in there with a list of place names engraved on it. I am not sure what this means.
Helping a family with their kids homework. The kids are nice, and know the answers, just very lazy. I can’t remember where I left my bass and get paid in chocolate bunnies. I explain that I’m not allowed to teach outside of work.
I set off home but end up going in the wrong direction as I follow a group of people I thought were friends. When  I catch up to them, I realise I was mistaken.
This makes my journey longer. I pass by a glass cathedral, beautifully illuminated by the sun. I can take a short cut through here and do so, following a group of Irish scholars as they sing and dance up an ancient staircase and along a hallway. They are in good spirits. At the top of a stairwell they stop, and tell me stories of possessed objects: mirrors, pins, boxes. I hear a laughing voice from the stairwell. At the bottom is a collection of objects. Moving up the stairs slowly, when I turn away. I say to the scholars we had better go. And we leave.

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