The Stuff of Dreams

A strange dream last night. I was in Toulouse with my brother-in-law and another person. We were looking for student lodgings although I dreaded the prospect of going back to "school". I was driving an old Renault 16, pronounced by my companions to be unsafe at any speed. (This last sentence actually corresponds to reality.) As we drove around the town on our fruitless quest, we saw many instances of the work of the renowned international architect Neville Coghill. Neville Coghill? It's one of those names with which I am vaguely familiar on a purely subconscious level (he turns out to be a literary scholar who died some time ago), but how and why on earth did I dredge him up from the depths of my mind?