I am on a westbound train, heading for my work in Dalmuir. I alight at an unfamiliar station, which I take to be the closest to my workplace. I walk along suburban streets, hilly and lined with bungalows, whereupon I meet one of my colleagues. We discuss the days that we will be working this week.
When I arrive at my work, the location is unfamiliar. It seems to be a cross between a traditional hospital, and Netherlee Primary School (my alma mater). I arrive to find that the cardboard-folder-drought-situation has not been rectified over the weekend, and, as such, we are unable to do any work.
We carry boxes along a dark, narrow corridor, that has steps up at either end, meaning that it is sunken. It is redolent of the corridors in Carolside Primary, where the table tennis was played on games nights at the 712 youth club. Once we reach one end of the corridor, we turn around, and carry the boxes back to our work space.
I am shocked and a little angered to discover that we are being temporarily managed by my least favourite teacher from school (Williamwood, that is). He asks for our timesheets, and I cannot find them amongst our folder of paperwork. He mutters something, and then goes away to find some spare sheets. He returns soon after with normal sheets for my colleagues, and a different, crêpe paper sheet for me. This annoys me greatly.
Our working space - normally a bare, uncompleted room, with two tables - is transposed to a desk for four people in the corner of a primary classroom. I am sitting down, to prepare some files, when a former classmate (whom I never particularly liked), tells me that I am in his way. I retort that I cannot get out of his way, but he is determined to sit down right behind me and eat his sub sandwich. I point out that we can both sit down, and he does.
I spot my nefarious new boss through a window behind our desk. He is washing the window. I jeer, "What cost-centre does that fall under?" (a timesheet joke that proves I am even less funny when asleep than when awake). I curse the fact that he is not my real boss, and walk out of the room, and the building.
The hospital (in my dream) sits at the top of a grassy hill, which seems to be a public park. It is a sunny day, and the park is bustling with families, flying kites and the like. I trudge down to the road at the bottom of the hill, and when I get there, I turn back.
I return to the hospital through an entrance very similar to the Primary 1 and 2 entrance of (the old) Netherlee Primary School. I pass through cloakrooms, and into an open area, which is like a hospital reception. At this point, I realise that I have lost my crêpe timesheet. I ask a passing nurse where I could find one, and she is very helpful. Everything is resolved.