Force of habit can kill us in more ways than the obvious. A few nights ago, I dreamt that I had returned to my parents’ house, and that my mother, who in reality is dead, was still living there. As is the way with dreams, the house was completely different to how it was in real life, and yet I recognised it and knew which room was which. Even in the dream, however, I was shocked at the state of the house, which was filled with old furniture which was broken, worn out or otherwise unusable, crowding all the rooms to the point where they were virtually unusable themselves. In the dream, I proclaimed to my brother and sister “We must sort this out and get rid of all this useless stuff!!” You would not have to be a qualified psychotherapist to read a message in this.

And now I must draw my attention away from this blog to the view of Deepdale before me,so that I can enjoy the last half-hour of being here before I head over to Coniston for tomorrow’s Chillswim. I imagine I will be reporting on that tomorrow, and maybe the next day too, but there is certainly more to come on this topic too.