I’m not happy with Dr Zborowski, and now we’re in my wheelhouse. He won’t expect me to do something bold like this; it’s against my nature. Well, he doesn’t know everything about me. I may as well admit it: I can be a teensy bit passive-aggressive. OK, maybe a lot. I like everyone to think I’m nice, and I mostly am. But I’m a little bit tougher than I look. I’m also one of those people who would gladly hurt someone I didn’t like if I thought no one could ever find out it was me. Give me half a chance and I’ll stick pins in the dolls of my enemies rather than argue with them face-to-face. It’s not a very nice thing to have to admit to yourself, but when you’re getting your 2:2 from Excelsior-Barking Online, in the practical classes you do find out these dark truths about yourself.

The thing is, despite having this side to my persona, I’ve never used my dreamhacking powers for evil. And that’s why, faced with the scorn of Bernard Zborowski of the organic Swedish carpet, I find it hard to contain my rage right now. Coming here in my current state of mind was probably not a good idea.

In Bernard’s dream lounge there’s a party in progress. All the guests are dead. They don’t appear to mind being dead, even though some are in a fairly advanced state of decay. Ugh, what the hell is going on? Who are these people?

‘Bernard, where are you?’

I try to slip between the walking dead without touching anyone, but it’s a bit like a game of Twister. Eventually I find Bernard in the kitchen. It’s not a normal kitchen. It’s got one of those huge walk-in ovens, all brick around it and niches in the walls for bread or whatever. I remember seeing ovens like this on school field trips. But then I peer closer at the niches and they look like slots in a crematorium.

Bernard is measuring spices. Or something. The counters are white and clinical and there’s not the slightest whiff of food. I see computer monitors and labbish-looking things, like centrifuges and lasers and microscopes and other exotic instruments that I don’t understand because I never took classes with labs.

An elderly woman in black tights and a blouse but with no skirt wanders through. Her lipstick is askew and her eyes are too bright. One of her arms keeps falling off and she keeps having to stop and put it back in its socket. She approaches Bernard from behind. He doesn’t see her, and when she touches him he jumps and makes a hiccuping sound. I can’t help smirking.