I had a dream

I must tell you about the dream I had last night.

I was on the road in London where the HQ of the charity I work for is based, with my mum and sister. We needed the loo, and decided to use the extensive public facility attached to a huge Peacocks retail outlet that is not located there. On entry, there was a large room to the right, and one to the left. They were both filthy. Rubbish and loo roll all over the floor, grotty dirty basins and WCs, and very smelly. While I was on the loo, a giggling French girl harangued me through the window in the door (?!) crying because she was desperate to use it. Hum!

After washing my hands, I walked to the centre of each room in turn, and yelled very loudly (I am known among friends and family for making complaints and a fuss about things I’m not happy with. I fear men would describe me as a Ball Breaker),
‘Can everyone in the loos and queue please complain to the management about these toilets. They are a disgrace, and unless we complain, nothing will be done about them.’

I then went off in search of the Management’s office. It was a bit like a ticket booth at the train station. I asked the woman at the window if I could speak to said Management. She looked at me (I think my face spelt Trouble) and said ‘Yes, I’ll just get her for you.’ Another woman appeared at the window and I asked if we could have a meeting. She came outside.

I was expecting a battle. ‘Your toilets are disgusting!’ I said. ‘No-one should have to use them. Will you come with me and see what I mean?’
‘Yes, alright then,’ she smiled, and off we went.

On entering, she looked around. ‘Hum. Yes,’ she said. ‘You’re right, they’re awful. I can’t believe no-one has said anything before now.’ Before I could interject and quiz her on how frequently she takes a tour of her empire, she had called over one of the cleaners (who wasn’t there before, may I add, and who was wearing a cook’s hat) and said,
‘Beryl, when will Tom and Jack be finished on the dining room project?’
‘Today, I think.’
‘Great, that leaves tomorrow and Friday to give this place a proper clean and lick of yellow paint. What am I doing for the rest of this week?’ It seems the cleaner was also her PA.
‘Your diary’s clear. In fact you were going to take annual leave tomorrow.’
‘Of course I was, silly me! Well, I’ll come in and give them a hand,’ and she turned to me and smiled again. ‘Is that alright?’
‘Well, yes, thank you very much,’ I said. ‘Thank you for listening and acting so fast. That’s wonderful, I’m really grateful.’ I left the toilets and caught up with my mum and sister in the street.

I don’t know what to make of a dream like that. Could changing the world be this easy?

PS Holiday packing going well at home, although we have reached deadlock on whether we’ll need to take the buggy or not. Other Half thinks not, as he wants space in the car for his diving gear. I think so, as I’m worried about my knee complaint and Babe’s need for peace and somewhere to crash during the day. And what we’ll do with him if we end up spending hours at an Italian port.

Otherwise, excitement is veritably mounting.
‘Are we going on holiday, Babe?’ I ask him.
‘Yes! Hooooooooray!’ he cries. ‘Butterfly!’.

I have been humming as I blitzed the house this weekend. Areas of my brain that were previously filled with Led Zeppelin and early pink Floyd are now awash with the theme tune to CBeebies Lazytown. (The hero of which, it happens, wears a blue leotard thing and is HOT.) How times have changed.