I am in a country park, redolent of Chatellerault near Hamilton, but situated at once in both Falkirk and northern California. Two groups of seemingly random people, to whom I have little connection, embark on a race along a path through the adjoining forest. The path is circular, so my team goes anti-clockwise, and the other team goes clockwise around the circuit.
We do this several times, always passing each other at the halfway point - a bridge over a small river. However, despite being equally-placed at the halfway stage, my team loses each race. On the final race, my teammates and I - feeling a little disaffected - decide to hide (with the apparent intention of surprising our opponents) at an abandoned, wooden pithead. It is found down a path on the edge of the forest, near the far bank of the river.
Inside the pithead, the new Stamperland Church bell hangs, above the mineshaft. One of my teammates, a vague acquaintance, decides to jump onto the bell, and swing about on it. Naturally, as the bell was about to be installed in Stamperland, it wasn't secured, and the bell, and my teammate, fall deep into the mine.
I run out of the wooden box, towards the visitor centre (which resembles Chatellerault House). I take my mobile phone in hand, and dial 999. As in so many dreams, I cannot think of what to say.