Last night I dreamt... That I was at an auction of wrecked cars. Wandering among the smashed remains of the various automobiles was like being in an art gallery: the roof vaulted high above and the place had a hushed, reverent feel. The cars were braced in the outline of a cage, with steel bars marking the outline of the cages' corners. They reminded me of Hirst's sharks.
But I wasn't there to buy a whole car - just an engine and gearbox - and those were racked at the back of the hall. I picked out a large automatic gearbox and a small engine, but changed my mind and swapped the engine for a big V6.
I carried the parts through to a workshop behind the hall, where I met a really friendly mechanic. It turned out that I was building a new car, a hot rod or a beach buggy - I'm not really sure which - and that he was my girlfriend's father. Except he looked nothing like E's father.
The mechanic proceeded to dissemble the gearbox, checking each element meticulously with an engineering ruler, to make sure it was safe. We talked about the covering for the gearbox and about the things that I was going to build into it that his daughter would like - a mirror and a lipstick holder. Slightly sexist, I know, and slightly strange.
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