Many, many years ago I remember having a dream where my Dad, myself and my Dad’s brother and wife went for a walk starting from my childhood home in Houghton Conquest, up Ampthill hill and eventually to the outskirts of Luton (which was about 20 miles away) and then returning.

Last night I had a revisitation of this dream, except that in this case it was a journey back to Houghton Conquest from my parent’s house in Cornwall and this time it was only my Dad walking with me.

It’s very strange how dreams which are so separated in time can be serialised on such a way, don’t you think?