I am in Donliegh Street. It is beautiful. There are flowers with petals that look like paint. I realise it’s a dream. Our house is boarded up at the front. Inside, it looks totally different to how I remember it. Dad is there, but very distant.
We go for a walk. Dad ends up in a fight, tearing his shirt off and showing his tattoos.
We head back. I see a digger parked outside the newsagents. It is transporting legal freedom of information.
I climb aboard, squeeze into the tiny seat and steal it.
I drive the digger through our house, demolishing most of it. Then I am flying, happy to be free.