A recent dream involved my black shoulder bag. I went out somewhere and realized I’d left it at home, so turned round and went back. Away ahead of me I could see a bench at the side of the track, with my black shoulder bag sitting on it – I must have left it there. There was a woman walking ahead of me who was going to get there first – I was worried in case I had problems convincing her that I was the real owner, so I hurried past to reach the bag first. I was worried for a while I wouldn’t make it in time.
I made it, snatched up my bag from under her nose, and headed home. Mum and my sister were outside – my sister was flying round the house on a special glider done up like a witch’s broomstick. Or she was trying to. She got it into the air and took one turn round the house, then it fell to bits so that she came crashing to the ground. Mum turned to me, sighing, and said, “She can never fly a broomstick.”
We went over and picked up the shattered heap of wood and twigs to examine it.
“Look,” said Mum – “the invisible magic glue has worn off already. You MUST have a broomstick checked every year to make sure it’s in proper working order, as invisible magic glue ages fast.”
I made a mental note to have my own broomstick MOTed.