A strange but vivid dream...

I was a policeman with a flat-top hat and high-viz clothing and I was accompanying a woman who I'm guessing was in her 40s to a house called Twigs. On the outside it looks like a pretty normal house, it's mid-terrace, there is a front garden with low, evergreen hedges and a path leading down to the front door. There is a porch with a tiled roof and the front door has a large window through which it is possible to see the rest of the house. It is a very pleasantly decorated house and as I approach the front door I spot somebody, possibly the homeowner walking from a room to the right of the hallway to a room on the left hand side of the building. I've pressed the doorbell, but he hasn't answered and I turn round to look at the woman who has brought me here. There's concern about the kidnapping of a child. The next thing I know I'm inside the house and moving through the hallway towards the back of the premises. I'm amazed at the size of the house. It opens out towards the rear into a huge function hall with high ceilings, like those found in old social clubs, and here I find a lot of people celebrating. I move forward as I am looking for somebody, possibly the owner of the house, who might be in the garden. It's a summer's day, the sun is shining and I find myself amazed at the amount of land attached to the house. There are fields ahead and a vast expanse of lawn on which people sit and enjoy the sunshine as they might in a public park. I find who I am looking for: a man in his 50s or early 60s with a full head of hair and a squarish head, he has a five o'clock shadow and isn't showing many signs of greyness. He's quite pleasant and somebody asks me about nearby schools. We appear to be in North Wales as Liverpool is mentioned and I say that it's too far to go for school. We move to the left and I turn around to see the back of the house, which has been rendered and then painted a deep mustardy yellow colour. There is another vast expanse of grass to the left of the house. The man tells me it's all part of his property and talks of the many times he's been asked by developers to let go of some of the land for a new housing development. He is standing in front of a roughly cut hedgerow that separates his land from the road across which I can make out another street and more houses.

Then I'm with my dad and we're discussing the dream. I tell him about the policeman's uniform I was wearing. I'm with other people I don't know and for all intents and purposes I'm in a pub garden, but there's no grass, just concrete and I'm sitting at one of those wooden pub tables with integral bench seats and a hole for an umbrella in the middle. Those around me are suspicious. They think I'm a policeman. The sun continues to shine and then, from behind a wall, somebody I know but can't identify, appears wearing a fleece, it's similar to a Christmas present from my mother-in-law, but a different colour.

I'm taking a wash, naked, in some kind of baths but I have an audience of 'mumsy' types and have to continue as best I can, keeping my back to the audience. I soap myself and want to simply wipe off the soap and get changed, but I can't do that and instead pour water over myself to get rid of the suds. Then I put on a strange-shaped, mustard-coloured tee-shirt. At this point the clock radio alarm goes off, it's 0600hrs and time to get out of bed before I have to listen to George Osborne, who is being interviewed by Simon Jack in Davos.