Twenty five years ago I would dream of Michael Stipe and talks under kitchen tables and then moving on to watch REM play. Now I dream of mackerel and the lack of them is making me anxious.

On Sunday night I dreamt we were in Ireland and at the Cottage and it was the last day of the holiday  and for whatever reason we had not been out fishing and so no mackerel had been caught over the two weeks we had been there. This had been partly down to the weather but there were other undisclosed reasons that lurked at the back of my mind. No matter, I decided to take a boat out for the only and last time of the holiday.

In the confines of the dream the shape of the water, the pier and the bay were all awry and there was a struggle to get my bearings. There was a wind up and suddenly it looked too rough to be taking a boat out for some fishing. But this was the only time to be doing it. The engine on the grey dinghy was broken. So I was left with taking out one of the kayaks.

The kayaks were in the garage so I made my way over the road to get one of them out. The wind was up now and the water had risen so it spilled over the pier and into the garden and orchard. I waded through to get the garage. By the time I got there it was almost totally submerged. I put my head down to swim through the door to pull one of the kayaks out. As I did so I woke up with a start. Still no mackerel caught.