Every single time I eat cheese of an evening (blue cheese on oatcakes if you’re asking) – I end up having vivid, invariably disturbing, dreams.
I dreamt last night that I was at someone’s funeral. I don’t know whose. I was with my father and brother. My father had a heart attack during the service and collapsed. We frantically called an ambulance which didn’t seem to come.
I went outside to look for it. There was a policeman asleep in the ditch running alongside the church. He was really unhelpful in trying to get help and I swore at him loudly.
The thing I remember most was my father’s eyes, half closed, like the life was slipping away.