Last night I dreamt I was sat on my own in The Cornish drinking pints. It was full of teenagers and I didn’t know anyone there, but it was Christmas and seemed like the thing to do. I had a job taking some inbound telephone calls in a make shift office in a classroom at the College and the scene shifted to a room full of desks set up as though ready for exam time. There were only a handful of other employees and the unoccupied desks with their silent office telephones were covered in a layer of dust. I spent my time battling a terrible decrepit drinks machine that required 12p per disposable paper cup and dispensed a strange fruity powder to mix with water, or scalding metallic tainted coffee.