I am seeing a young nurse. She keeps being called away to work. We are in a tunnel underground. A bunker. I search for her, and eventually find a way out, via a magnetically protected nuclear shelter. People are crowding in. I step outside. The world is beautiful. Through a gap in the clouds I see the trails of missiles. They are passing over London, launched from Berlin. I realise we are already dead. There’s no point in trying to shelter. I walk along the streets, smiling at people in their panic, realising how beautiful the world is, how much I love people.
I hear a samba band in the distance. Passing them, I enter a field. Hippies weave willow and live off the grid. In the distance I can see a stately home. We head for it and force our way in.
Inside, it is huge. Spaces full of disused vehicles and bicycles, a long corridor. We explore until we arrive at a child’s bedroom. At the back of the wardrobe is a door, and beyond this, another into a secret room. No one is there. Just the ghosts of a tick, a cat, a dog and a deer.