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.