I am in a b&b in York. The minster is a ruin, burnt out and overgrown with weeds. I remember climbing up into the ruin in a previous dream.
The area is being redeveloped. I lie on a chaise long outside, looking at the wall of a derelict house. I have three t shirts with me, patterned with different faces. A friend joins me, and we sing a song about passing wind through your exoskeleton if you are an insect. I try to record it in my YouRock guitar, but it doesn’t have enough memory.
I woman I like is playing oboe in the b&b. I can’t remember how long I’ve been here. It must be time to leave soon.