I don't write here much at all nowadays.  But this seems like an ideal time and place to get this off my chest.

Let me tell you a story I have told few others.  As many of you have come to know (sometimes to your detriment), I am a rationalist sceptic by nature, not given at all to superstition or magical thinking.  I am pretty dismissive of those who are, and downright hostile to those who model their lives on it and propose the rest of us follow them.

The first nightmare I can ever remember having was also the worst.  I was a very small child when it occurred. I wasn't able to process news reports, and we didn't have a television, so you can figure out for yourself where the seed of it came from. 

In the dream, I was standing with a number of other children in a large open area.  I felt an utter dread that something terrible was going to happen.  Then to my right appeared a Welsh miner, who pointed up at the sky, where this huge wall of mud came down and engulfed us all.  I remember waking up in a state of blind panic.

I reckon it's just over fifty years to the day since I had that dream.  

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Felonious Monk

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