It is the morning, and totally dark. I set out at about half past seven for the train station. I catch a train to Queen's Park (which appears to be more like Langside station), and I am forced to leave the train, because I see a conductor and I have no ticket.
I get off the train, and sit on the platform, where I meet an old friend. We talk awhile.
I look up at the sky, which is amazingly starry and animated. There are thousands more stars than usual, and each one is twinkling. Day breaks, I look at my watch and I realise that almost one hour has passed. I have to be back at my house by half past eight, in order to leave for University.
A massive Hindu god comes onto the platform. He has three pairs of arms, and three pairs of legs. All of which he crosses for dramatic effect.
I look out across the surrounding area, and for some reason, the whole of Scotland and Western Europe can be seen. The central belt of Scotland is a narrow isthmus, and I can see beyond Edinburgh and the much-more-narrow-than-usual North Sea to the mouth of the Seine in France. My handy road atlas confirms this.
The station is becoming crowded, because a class outing from the Gouranga Academy has joined me on the platform. They begin to shout ultra-right-wing slogans, so I decide to leave.
I leave the station, and the shouting rises to fever pitch. All of a sudden, they start to sing Rule Brittania. The singing is accompanied by the sound of cannon going off.
The fascists explode in time with the song, and there are fireworks everywhere, and also flying elephants.
I am out in my front garden, and I notice a short, propellor-driven aeroplane flying overhead. It seems to be flying low, and I can read the writing on the side of it.
It continues to descend, and crashes into the hedgerow of the house opposite mine, landing nose down, but intact.
I rush inside to dial 999, and the operator takes surprisingly long to answer. I tell her what has happened, then go across the road to rubber-neck.
The only people on board appear to have been four babies, or possibly even life-like dolls, which are scooped out of the crash site, and taken away by a neighbour.
Later, I am in a supermarket, and I espy a former teacher whom I did not like. He blanks me, whilst talking to my mum.