I loved this small flat, couldn’t quite believe it was mine, or if it wasn’t mine that I was living here. In fact it all seemed a little hazy how I had come to be here, but I dismissed those thoughts as I tidied up. it wasn’t a real mess but there had been a few friends round last night, I had vague memories of laughter and music and the big sash windows open for the pleasant evening air to drift in.
The floor of this odd shaped room, pentangular – is that it, five walls? – the floor was old weathered wooden planks, grey with age as if sea washed, as if they had been rescued from an old pier. They were worn smooth by a million footsteps, rubbed down by sand, not a splinter or a sliver, just smooth, grey wood. There was a bright rug slightly off centre, probably home-made by someone, a rag rug, was it or knotted, I don’t know I was busy picking up glasses and empty bottles.
The windows looked out across the town, the flat was on the hillside and there was the sea, as blue as the sky and sparkling in the sun. It made me feel glad just looking at it; maybe I would wander down the cobbled street and go down to the harbour and the promenade later. The air was balmy and pleasant and I busied myself, putting books away in the bookcase, carrying empty glasses and cups to the small kitchen. The walls were a cheerful yellow, their sunny colour matched my mood and the weather.
I returned to the main room and a man whose name I didn’t know was just pushing his things into his bag. He smiled shyly at me and I said ‘hi’ and then carried on, pulling the rug straight, adjusting the throws and the cushions on the settee where he must have slept. He was a small guy, black hair, glasses, a rather battered odd shaped hat – so odd in fact I couldn’t really work out what sort of hat it was. I wondered whether to ask his name, but I didn’t bother, he was leaving soon. I couldn’t really remember him at the party, but obviously he had slept over on the settee and was now getting ready to go.
I took out the last remaining cups and glasses and when I returned a group of women had arrived. They were going to give a writing work shop – well, that should be interesting, but I had to take the car and go and pick someone up from somewhere, and I left them merrily chatting away, the small man in the hat sitting on the settee, his bag on his knee. I got in the car and drove down the hill into the town, the painted walls and the colourful roofs of the houses brilliant in the sun. I felt unbelievably full of joy, what a wonderful day!
In case you didn’t guess, this was a fantastical and very vivid dream I had last night!