I was driving along an unfinished road in the mountains, which started off as any other road, but gradually got more and more dilapidated and incomplete, until it was eventually just a mountain path with grass, mud, rocks, potholes, and farm gates. Eventually I�could go no further, and as I�stopped to turn round, I could hear the voices of scottish teenagers (several boys and a girl) shouting to each other. When I was turned round, I�saw them sitting by the track, and as I�reached them, they surrounded my car somewhat menacingly. I couldnapos;t go forwards or backwards or I�would run them over, and I�didnapos;t want to do that (I�considered pushing them gently, but didnapos;t want to do that either in these litigious times). I couldnapos;t get out of my car either to open the gate and drive away, as I�thought they would either hurt me or steal the car.
This faded, as dreams do, to a different setting, where I�was sitting at a cafe table by a window in some italian-esque monastery-type retreat high up in the mountains. I�was drinking (or playing with) a cocktail containing a whole strawberry, some ice, and an odd thing which was like a courgette at the bottom and divided into leaves like the top of a pineapple at the top. I�was intensely aware that I�was on holiday, on my own, and that I was very lonely. There was nobody else around apart from a waitress who was peripheral, and I�was alone with my thoughts looking out through the window at the sunset over the mountains. As I was sitting there, the words of an advert for the holiday were running through my head, which stressed that I�could go on holiday now, and pay for it later, and how much of a good thing this was.
Needless to say I�awoke this morning in an odd, melancholy, and unhappy mood.
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