dreamed we were living at the top of P rd/ end of Htoun St. We decided to have a wedding dinner, at Christmas. I rang up this guy I met once (in the dream) - I'd hung out with him and Charlie one night before Charlie died. He's a ceramic artist and I think he is really attractive. I want him to do 20 centrepiece plates for the tables, and maybe a kind of ornament to sit in the plates with other things, wedding favours. I'm explaining what I want on the phone but I don't have the words exactly. He asks how I got his number and I say actually we met once, at Htoun St, years ago. As soon as he knows who I am he starts saying 'Oh you're the one I've been getting all these calls from. Why are you ringing me all the time?'

I say 'What? I only rang you once the other day, but you weren't there.'

He says 'But I've seen this number come up over and over again for years, I never knew who it was, you call me repeatedly and it's really very weird.'

I am starting to feel hugely embarrassed, it's true that I have tried to get in touch once in a while since met him. I say, 'I just really like your work, I thought we could use it, I only called once the other day. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable.'

N has walked in and I'm trying not to say too much because he's listening. But he can hear the nature of the conversation and he's sniggering at me, pointing.

The guy on the phone says 'Oh bullshit, I met you once years ago and you've turned into some weird thing, it's not normal, you don't call up T and K, or H.'

That's also true I realise, I know I met those people too but I don't remember them.

He goes on telling me off, me feeling more and more humiliated. He's angry that I've intruded, but more scornful, mocking. I'm like a stalker. I'm trying to think of normal comparisons to explain myself but it's futile and with N listening I just say See ya and hang up.

Then I'm out on P Road and I see our car stopped at the lights. It's old- like a 1950s Ford Anglia, matte black with silver trim, not fancy. The lights change and the rest of the traffic moves off. I realise no one is in our car, it's just been left there, parked in the wrong place, so I should get in and get it off the road. I have a pair of pointe shoes in a bag in my hand; I open the passenger door thinking I'll put the pointe shoes in then get in to drive. But it turns out there are people in the car after all - a middle-aged Italian man is driving, there's a couple in the back. The driver says 'No, no, no, No frozen goods in here.' I can't put the shoes in; it's not our car.

I turn to go home and I see my dad step out of some shrubs. His hair is damp and he's lost weight. He's really happy to see me. He's been having dinner with my stepmum and my niece and nephew in the garden of the restaurant next door. They've come to visit and they are all having a really nice time.