I dreamt I was at an event on a steamship. A large and bright, white-walled room set out like an expo, with stalls and bands, and Deb and I had one, or we were possibly simply guests on this Spartan, but clean, ocean liner. The room was reminiscent of a gallery, or the virtual art gallery I exhibited in with the Society for Art of Imagination. There were a few other people, but it was not busy. In one corner was Jean-Michel Jarre, in sunglasses. I approached him to talk and we exchanged a few words. I noticed that he had strange texture on his face, light-fleshy lumps like Rice Krispies, and that the wall behind him was also infested with these. He looked awful, as though he had leprosy, and I backed off fearing contagion. The lumps, it was revealed, were an infestation of ants which were behind the walls.
I found myself outside, on the towpath by a canal, looking at the dark water with some other people in the sunshine. There was a swan on the water, and another bird with white feathers and a black head, but shaped like a moorhen. In the water I saw a platypus and it swam up to me then turned away, its beak suddenly changed into a trumpet shape as it gulped a mouthful of black swarming particles in the water. A young woman next to me reached into the water and pulled out a snail with a long tube-like body. She said that these sea-snails were deadly poisonous, then tore off its shell, keeping hold of the squirming penile body. I remember thinking that the poor creature may be in agony at this. She then put the torn end in her mouth and started to bite, but her husband grabbed it from her and told her that she didn't want to do that, inferring that she was insane. He threw the snail body back into the water.
