MoL had strange dream involving Scott Fitzgerald’s bed and pyjamas (with name tag), Sting advising where to take a cheap holiday in Greece (MoL points out one has no control over who appears in one’s dreams) and Samuel Beckett flying in from Montevideo and speaking in a funny voice about the poor quality of domestic staff. There was a private house with wooden floors which was a museum, and a carrier bag. MoL had to photograph the covers of Beckett’s books about which he was very fussy. He wanted them done in a field, then on a car dashboard and would not be satisfied. Not as interesting as the dream Bret Easton Ellis made up in Lunar Park for his Korean shrink, who said, “You expect me to believe this dream? Large-mouth bass chase you into pond where you escape onto floating airplane and then you are flying business class — a plane that has your father’s name on side of it?”