Lately I've been worried about structural collapse. I have a new build house, and because they tend to be made out of materials similar to cardboard, a lot of cracks have been appearing in the ceiling. More seriously, the outside mortar is crumbling away, and requires an expensive repointing job. With these concerns in mind, I dreamt about my other house in Wivenhoe, which had we had moved back to. Before we moved to Sussex, we had tried to convert the loft to a bedroom, but the architect and builder we hired disappeared after the blueprints were drawn up. This time, we were determined to do something with the space, and we had the idea of turning it into a sea lion pool.
I'm not sure what possessed us to make such a ludicrous decision, but we went ahead with it, and the result was appallingly executed. Five sea lions were bought and transported to the pool, half of the loft area was fitted with a glass tank, and a small window, only the size of the entry hatch, looked into the tank from below. We could see the sea lions gliding past if we stood directly beneath it, but there was no way in and no way out, being hermetically sealed. Once their fish and shrimp food ran out, there was no way to resupply. There was also nowhere for the sea lions to haul themselves out onto, they were trapped swimming in endless circles.
I began to worry about the weight of all that water pressing down on the ceiling. Being directly above our master bedroom, and the bed where we slept, the nightmare of everything falling onto us in our sleep was constantly present. One day, I inspected the ceiling above the bed for signs of wear and was stressed to discover beads of water forming in a line. The beads then turned to a trickle as a long crack appeared. I had the presence of mind to run downstairs, just as a defeaning rip tore through the house and the floodgates opening. I was looking after my parents' dogs and tried to corral them all into the living room, but I was too late.
They ran upstairs barking, and I could hear the guttural roars of the sea lions as they engaged in battle. Water gushed downstairs, along with all manner of debris, dead fish, and squirming shrimp. It was a disaster beyond my wildest fears. I closed to the doors to barricade myself and my family in the living room as I went through my phone trying to find the contact details of the man who had installed the tank. Eventually I found him, and he agreed to come over to assess the damage. He told us that the sea lions would need to be relocated to the local zoo. The rest of the dream was spent standing outside as the house was cordoned off and a team of firemen and animal wranglers arrived to begin clearup operations.
One of the investigators located an empty wine bottle that had turned up inside the brickwork of the house, which had apparently been contaminating our water supply. Inside the bottle was a giant ball of green mould, which had been freely mingling with our water. I told the man that we always recycled wine bottles, and it must have been carried by a rat back into the house. I did not understand the bottle's connection to the tank collapse, but the investigator insisted it was my fault, no doubt trying to clear the construction company from any insurance cover. The dream was certainly a strange one, but I should point out there is a scene in my novel with a similar scenario, only it's a giant nile crocodile in the ceiling.
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