Dream: Right, so there I am in my hardware shop, wherein I provide general goods to the public at competitive, but not sacrificial prices. Outside I see an attractive young knife inspectrix (specifically knives, yes) taking down notes and talking to a guy. It is apparent to me that the guy has it in for me because I own a particularly sharp (razor sharp I think) knife that he's quite nervous about. The woman, man and the knife I think I may have dreamt about before, certainly I know all about them in this dream. I'm a little frustrated with this man and believe myself to be compliant with the law, so I stride out and ask if this woman wants to check my knife, glaring at the guy, who slinks off while she comes into the shop. I find the offending article, and she gets out a standard form and asks for my details, saying that she'll have to take the knife away for a couple of days. And she does, I guess.
Well I don't know too much about Freud, but enough to guess that the latent content of that one is probably quite embarassing. I wonder whether the word sacrificial was a conscious or unconscious addition. I also think the sharpness of the knife may have been suggested by an encounter yesterday with a particularly lethal bean-slicer we have.
During the night, the fan I had in my room blew back my RSV from Exodus 23 (Concerning restitution) to Genesis 11 (Tower of Babel). It also woke me at about 0500 by creating a non-specific fluttery noise really near my head. It was some paper rather than the vicious killer moths I had half-heartedly posited.
It's well quiet round here. Dad's usually up and about before I consider getting up, but he's still KOd. Must have had a bad night. The postman got me out of bed. We had some mail go missing, but he came round personally to mull it over with me on the doorstep, which was ineffectual, but pretty considerate. He even apologised for getting me up, which was something the postmen in Exeter never did. Having said that, a normal person would be up by now, as it's coming up to nine.