I dreamt last night that I was at my grandparents. Things about their bungalow were different, and the garden (half-way up Oliver's Mount in Scarborough, on a forty-five degree slope) had been levelled. But the most memorable thing was that Charlie was there too, sitting on my Grandpa's knee, being bounced up and down. I was so pleased that they had seen him; proud of Charlie, too. And I could see my Grandpa smiling.