Spanish Sea World

I relate to you now o'brother a dream I had on the Caledonian sleeper train as I shuttled through the night, from London to Inverness. Having made rather too free with the wine in the club lounge, I retired to my bunk in a bilious sort of way. The swaying of the carriage was not the sort of lullaby to soothe babies to sleep, but rather the kind to keep a man awake in spite of his bodily protestations. Towards dawn I descended to the lower berth where the swaying seemed less violent. I was then able to get some shut-eye and dreamed the dream you are about to read.

I was holidaying in Spain with my wife and daughter, visiting, as in customary in my dreams, a rundown Sea World and zoo. The zoo section was nothing out of the ordinary, I remember seeing elephants and giraffes. The Arctic zone however, was a different story. Tight, outdoor pools were home to marine mammals such as dolphins and porpoises, locked into endless revolutions of their confined space. Rock formations formed a backdrop to their tanks, offering the illusion that they were in a natural environment. Indeed, the resort was on the coast but did not communicate with the sea. A larger tank was empty, and I was disappointed to learn that the killer whales it formerly held were gone.

Some signs read that until recently there were a total of 36 killer whales at Sea World many of them in ocean pens. They had all been killed following PETA legislation that announced these marine centres were no longer allowed to hold them. I am all for animal rights, so was disturbed to learn of their fate, and also guiltily irked that I was still yet to see a real life killer whale. The true horror of the zoo was yet to reveal itself, but I did not have long to wait. 

Further into the marine zone, I saw bizarre enclosures for wolves and hyenas. The animals lay on their sides, with their paws hanging over the edges of the glass walls. I shepherded my wife and daughter past these enclosures, worried that the barriers were too low and incidents might occur. Round the bend we encountered a tank holding polar bears, and what a sorry lot they were. 

The bears, if they can be called such, were almost wholly devoid of hair. It was more like patchy fuzz, with large bald spots and the unmistakable onset of advanced mange. Lulu had never seen polar bears before, and she had trouble recognising them as such. They lounged around on rocks, packed in tightly, eight or nine of them. They were also stunted in growth, perhaps only half the size they should have been. Their faces were ugly and mutated, as though inbred. One of them had a grey, crusty growth on its ear. Another had a snaggle tooth, a single fang that jutted up over his undershot lower jaw.

I ushered the family on where we reached a cul-de-sac of smaller tanks, all cloistered together on top of one another like the fish tanks of a pet shop. There was a large praying mantis strapped to a wooden panel. A small tank filled with gannets zooming back and forth, all glassy eyed. There were also many types of fish and sea creatures. Interactive panels interspersed these tanks, and Lulu began playing with them. The close combination of ill-suited fauna and scary animals made me feel queasy, so I expressed a desire to leave. As I escaped the hellish zone, I almost fainted.

Outside the marine centre was a large, plasterboard killer whale statue which some teenagers were climbing to take selfies. It was late afternoon now and people were leaving. Lulu wanted me to take a photo of her climbing on the killer whale. The dilapidated state of the sea world hit home most strongly here, with the peeling paint and forlorn welcome sign. Whilst I snapped photos of Lulu, my wife was engaged in conversation with the group of teenagers. I was eager for us to be on our way, but the teens took an interest in us.

One of them, a dumpy boy who, I'm sorry to say, looked as deformed as the polar bears, kept trying to hug us. He had a hanging lip, like a failed skin graft. After hugging Li, he came over to me, hugged me and moved in for a smooch. I flinched away in horror, but not before his mutant lip pressed itself to my cheek and he licked my face. I wiped the saliva away in revulsion. 

We now had a long journey to our hotel, with no public transport available. The road along the coast was long and dusty, with a storm on the horizon. We were able to hitch a lift on a trailer being dragged by a Spanish peasant on a bike. He was on his way to a small historic town which lay between Sea World and our destination. When we reached the town, we bid the peasant farewell and Li told me we would take shelter at a pilgrim haven. 

The pilgrim haven was nothing more than a sort of clay barn hosted by kindly religious souls to offer travellers relief and shelter. We had apparently stayed at one before the last time we were in Spain. I had no clue what was going on, but Li secured us space at one of these hovels, the floor of which was covered in straw. Our hosts were a kind Spanish lady called Celia, and her husband Jesus, a skinny vegan man with a black goatee. They had a toddler called Bonnie, who tried to play with Lulu. 

Soon nough, the storm hit, and the sky turn dark. We nestled in the hovel as lightning crackled and rain pounded on the roof. Li chatted to Celia as I wondered how we were to get back to our hotel. The idea of these pilgrim havens were for women travelling alone to have safe spaces to retire to, and also to give birth in if required. I couldn't help but feel creeped out by the whole thing, despite the kindness of our hosts. As I sat in the straw, I noticed an enormous pus filled blister covering most of my ankle and debated whether or not to burst it. 

Dali Cybernetics - How I Touched the Face of God (Part 2)

Spoiler Alert - the following contains a detailed account of Dali Cybernetics VR experience.

As promised, here is the follow-up to yesterday's Dali Cybernetics review. The main exhibition was over, with only the finale remaining. I left the zen room with my friend and we emerged into a small foyer where VR headsets were attached to the heads of visitors. Before we were fitted with one, we were instructed to read a set of guidelines warning of side effects, dizziness, along with ominous disclaimers such as, 'what you are about to see is not real', 'you will encounter other people as a diving helmet, do not push them.' I was mildly intrigued by this point, but not yet excited or hyped up for what was about to happen. 

I should preface the following experience by asserting that I'm a naturally dour, cynical sort of person and usually quite difficult to impress. Anyone who follows my book review blog will know that I hate nearly everything. I hold art to unrealistically high standards, and I become pickier with every passing year. I was fully expecting my headset to malfunction, as is usually the case for me whenever I experience any kind activity that requires working technology, whether it be laser tag or dodgems. I have long scoffed at the idea of VR and had no interest in trying it, dismissing it as an overpriced gimmick at best. I have never been more wrong.

After skimming over the guidelines, I was approached by a smiling woman who unceremoniously jammed a headset over my head, ushered me through a doorway, and onto the Ship of Dreams. There were no adjustments made to the headset, it was plonked on and tightened before I even knew what was happening. No sensitivity tweaking, no interpupillary distance tracking, just wham, bam, good to go. This was my first time in VR. Visibility was clearer than I expected it to be, although by no means crystal clear. I could probably have adjusted that, but I was so overwhelmed by everything that the slight blur did not present an issue. The feel and heft of the headset was comfortable and well balanced.

I did not immediately know what was going on. I noticed that my friend, who had gone on ahead of me, was only a floating copper diving helmet, the old fashioned sort worn by early aquanauts. I did not yet know that we were on the deck of a sailing ship. It took me rather longer than it should have done to realise that I too, was only a floating head. Looking down at my body and realising it wasn't there was an intensely surreal, Kafkaesque, and discombobulating feeling that cannot be adequately described to somebody who has not experienced it. I had to keep groping for my torso, to reassure myself that I still had one. 

I instantly thought of media in which somebody wakes up to find that parts of their body have disappeared or transformed. The Metamorphosis, Johnny Got His Gun, Boxing Helena, Robocop, Mars Attacks!, Rust and Bone, Tusk. All of those films raced through my decapitated head as I struggled to come to terms with this new existence. My friend was in a similar state of mild panic and awe. It was he who brought my attention to the fact that I also had hands. I raised them for a better look and saw they were gilded copper - liquid gloves melded to my flesh. Like a baby discovering that it has control over its hands and spends hours gazing at them in fascination, I turned them over and over, staring in admiration, examining the smooth, cauterised cutoff point at the wrists. 

So here I was, nothing more than a floating diving helmet and a pair of coppery gloves. For a while, I did not take in my surroundings, being too absorbed in adjusting to this strange new experience. My friend asked me to put my hands out, and he placed his palms against mine, probably to reassure himself that we were still there, still relevant. We had numbers beneath our helmets to identify one another from the other people sharing the space with us. I was 3, and I felt like I was that age again, experiencing the world for the first time. 

A metal railing ran around the length of the room, and I was drawn to this as a solid anchor point. The railing was real and reacted to my touch with reassuring solidity, a counterbalance to my ethereal form. I clung to it like somebody going rollerskating for the first time, and shakily dragged myself deeper into the room. I was amazed at how accurate the hand tracking was. When I clasped the railing, my metallic hands did likewise. Nothing else was real. It was time to survey my surroundings, and this is where the true immensity of VR hit me. Had it not been for the headset, my monocle might have popped out in sheer alarm.

I was on the deck of a wooden ship, with a mast in the centre, at the top of which billowed a white, square canvas sail, snapping in the breeze. I could have spent the entire time staring at this sail, marvelling at its dimensions. I could have spent the entire time admiring my hands. The sense of scale was not something I had anticipated. But there were other sights demanding my attention. A giant egg stood at the base of the mast, impeccably rotund, impossibly unreal, evocative of Dali's 'Metamorphosis of Narcissus.' I did not try to touch it. My attention was drawn beyond the guardrail of the ship, to a calm, undulating sea, almost milky white. I looked behind myself for the first time, and was shocked to discover the door I had entered through had disappeared, replaced by the poop deck of the ship.

This was the first major revelation, the moment I knew I was physically inhabiting this virtual world, not simply sat before a screen. Objects in the environment had real scale, I could walk seamlessly from one side of the deck to the other, I could turn 360 degrees and see everything rendered perfectly. I was actually on the ship, there was no going back. This was mind blowing, and the infinite possibilities of VR flew through my mind. My incredulity expressed itself in words, and I blurted out my discoveries. It is impossible to retain a degree of composure and dignity when experiencing VR for the first time. I was gibbering excitedly like a child, pointing out everything I saw. 

My advice to anyone wanting to try VR is to leave your cynicism and ego behind, allow yourself to be transported, and embrace an infant's eye view of the world. Allow yourself those emotions of joy, euphoria, amazement, fear. Remember what it is to be small and insignificant again. Immerse and unbound yourself. There is no judgement in VR. Perhaps the employees watching us were amused by a roomful of grown adults behaving like children, but that's how things were.

I watched the passing landscape, a dreamlike vista far more compelling than any real world cruise. 'I am actually inside a Dali dreamscape', I told myself. As a teenager poring over Dali's paintings in art class at school, never in my wildest imaginings could I have dreamt that one day I would be inside one of them. Never. But here I was, sailing the seas, on the deck of a ship, next to a giant immaculate egg, with strange rock formations gliding by. 

We hit a wave and the deck shuddered beneath our feet. I grabbed onto the rail with both hands as water sprayed over me, I felt its wetness. I don't know if this actually happened, or my brain tricked me into believing it did, but other visitors reacted likewise. I suspect we really were sprayed with water at that point. It was then that I remembered the darker elements of Dali's paintings. Evocative, weirdly beautiful, and compelling yes, but they could also be terrifying. Something was coming.

From the portside of the ship, closest to where I stood, an immense red claw loomed over the side. It was closely followed by another, the pincers of a gargantuan lobster, each as big as a fridge. I shouted out to my friend, who had his back to it and had not yet noticed. The head and twitching antennae of the lobster appeared. A claw moved towards me, as though to snatch me from the deck. I knew it was not real, yet my brain could not stop my body from instinctively cringing away. 

I cowered like a sailor who had come face to face with a sea monster. At that moment, I was a character from Mysterious Island, facing off against the giant crab. After menacing us with its pincers, the lobster leapt out of the sea and sailed over the ship. I looked up and saw its segmented underbelly blotting out the sky, then it splashed back into the sea on the starboard side and was gone. This was incredible. Again, I was overwhelmed by the possibilies, as excited as a child on a school trip.

What happened after that point was a blur of disordered memories and excited impressions that I struggle to organise into a logical sequence. The voyage was split into three sections, and we were nearing the end of the seabound portion. Cliffs rose into view, flanking a narrow passage which would barely admit the ship. I gazed in awe at the towering cliff faces as they took on mythic proportions, feeling like Odysseus approaching the cliffs of Scylla, or Jason with his Argonauts passing through the Clashing Rocks. 

The cliffs swept by, I was humbled, dwarfed. I did not know where to look. Everywhere, something wondrous and mesmerising was taking place, I wanted to see it all at once. My dreams have always been of the most vivid kind, but not one of them came close to this. We were leaving the cliffs behind now and sailing through a desert. A giant folded clock had appeared on deck, straight out of 'The Persistance of Memory.' We were standing on the clock face as its massive 3D hands ticked over our heads. But there were other things happening elsewhere and I could not look in any one place for long.

On the horizon, a line of Dali's long-legged elephants from The Temptation of Saint Anthony were marching across this fractured landscape. The ship drew closer to the line of distorted pachyderms. I do not remember much music or sound from the experience so far, but now there was the discordant squeal of trumpeting elephants. Then we were beneath them as they strode over the ship on impossibly long, spindly legs. Far, far above, higher than the lobster had been, their bellies went by, towering into the clouds. I was in a visual coma, staring stupefied at the sheer majesty of it all.

At some point after this particular spectacle was over, I noticed that the clock on deck was gone and had been replaced by the giant stump of a guttering candle. The flame looked so real, like I could reach out and burn my hand, but still I did not venture to touch it. It felt profane to do so. I heard the panicked cries of other visitors. At the bow of the ship, giant ants were invading. In true Dali fashion, their segmented bodies had visible gaps between the component parts. On of the ants turned it attention to the ship and rushed at us with clicking mandibles. Now it was Land of the Giants, a favourite TV show from my childhood. 

I looked behind me, and the candle had grown. Rather than melting, it was steadily growing taller, rising up alongside the mast, a proud, phallic column dripping with wax that puddled at its base. Incredible. We were surrounded by fireflies, I saw people trying to touch them, forgetting that they were in a simulation. Then we were surrounded by floating orbs, which became eyeballs. We were ogled from all sides by hundreds of them. I felt naked and exposed before the all-seeing, penetrating gaze of a higher being. 

The desertscape was sucked into a vortex, and we were in space, hurtling toward an unknown destiny. Stars and comets whizzed by. Enormous monoliths and heads of statues rolled at us through the cosmos, sometimes threatening to obliterate our tiny vessel. I gazed upon the faces of angels, but here my memory disintegrates the most, for this section of the voyage was sheer abstract surrealism and beyond the realm of understanding. I was undergoing a profound spiritual ephiphany. I felt like I was in the presence of God and nothing on Earth would ever be the same again. I did not want to leave, I did not want it to end. Already I was calculating how I could remain in the simulation and experience it all over again. I was planning my return.

During the space section, I lost all sense of time, place, and being. I was at one with the cosmos, witnessing glimpses of Creation itself. I imagined how Dali would have felt, seeing his creations coming alive in this manner. No doubt he would have been thrilled, he would himself have likely pioneered this technology had he lived long enough. It had happened - I was finally impressed by that which I had always shunned. 

I saw myself some years from now, a VR junkie, living my life inside these fascinating worlds. I could curl up on deck and stare slack-jawed at the Heavens, as lost and enraptured as any opium addict in the fume-ridden dens of old. The real world held no allure now. I had 'touched the face of God' and transcended the bounds of my mortal shell. Why have a body when I could be a brain in a jar, a head in VR? My overactive imagination jumped ahead and showed me my lifeless corpse being carried from the house, VR set still attached, a line of dribble from the corner of my mouth. It would not be a bad way to go.

I don't remember the end of the dazzling show, but at some point the dreamscape faded and we were inside a wire mesh, Tron-like cube. I didn't realise that it had ended and we were supposed to leave. My mind had been fried, and from this point on, I would exist only as a passive avatar. Visitors were leaving through a hidden door. I became convinced that I had missed the start of the whole thing, as indignant as an addict, angry that the staff had tried to cheat me. I wanted to stay for the next rotation. I noticed that one of the diving helmets had half sunk into the floor of the virtual space, like Robin Williams trapped in the floorboards on Jumanji. Perhaps this particular guest had succumbed to virtual reality, become assimilated into its cybernetic framework?

Eventually, all good things must end, and against my will I was drawn to the exit. Once in the portal, four grid walls closed in around me, boxing me in with nowhere to go. Before I could get fully claustrophic, there was a flash of blinding light, the light at the end of the tunnel, and the same woman who had strapped my headset on was pulling it off. I was back in the dreary foyer of the exhibition, blinking in stupefaction. My body was back, but my mind was forever altered.

In a daze, I went through the motions of visiting the bathroom and ambling through the gift shop, chatting non-stop about the encounter. I saw Dali jigsaw puzzles for sale. Who on earth would want to buy a 2D jigsaw puzzle after experiencing that? Once outside, I saw with bitterness the bleak and hideous grey of the real world. I felt slightly nauseous and my head pounded, although that could have been the effects of only drinking coffee on an empty stomach. My friend complained of a similar sickness, and we located a park close at hand where we could 'touch grass.' 

One of the trees was planted upside down, with its branches in the ground and its roots soaring into the sky. I pointed it out, to see if my friend could see it too. He could. Perhaps part of our minds were still locked away in the simulation? The comedown was intense. The oppressive environment of East London was appalling to one who had so recently soared with angels and clung from the very fabric of the Multiverse. I was about to sit down on the grass when I noticed a pile of dog shit. Yes, we were definitely back in the real world.

This profound spiritual awakening, so unexpected, but not unwelcome in my Autumn years, immediately set me to work researching consumer-friendly headsets. The one we used was an industry model known as HTC VIVE Focus 3. It has a lot of nice specs and features, including hand tracking and a fitted cooling fan, but comes with a hefty price tag and is typically reserved for the workforce. A more compatible and affordable choice would be the PSVR2, but I wanted to know how it compared to what I had been through. So far, I have been unable to find anybody familiar with both headsets. This relatively new era of tech does not enable the average consumer to afford more than one. 

Ideally, I would like somebody who uses PSVR2 to visit the Dali exhibition and offer an honest comparison. Have I really touched the face of God, or am I simply a starstruck initiate with so much more to look forward to? I sincerely hope it's the latter, but either way, I could not be more pleased by the manner in which I lost my VRginity. I'm not ashamed to admit how wrong I was about VR. At the ripe old age of 38, I thought there was nothing left in the world that could surprise me, but VR has done so much more than that. The possibilites to use it for a better world are too numerous to list here; that would be a discussion for another day. Right now, the future is here - one must simply reach out and grasp it...

Dali Cybernetics - How I Touched the Face of God (Part 1)

Thursday 27th July 2023 was a life changing day for me. It may go down in my personal history as a moment of revelation, standing alongside other gilded milestones like Saturday 28th October 2000, when I first saw The Texas Chainsaw Massacre as it premiered on UK television. These moments are to be cherished, documented, and discussed. This blog has primarily dealt with my rich inner world of dreams, but today, I break tradition to review an exhibition I attended in London two weeks ago. 

The exhibition in question was Dali Cybernetics: The Immersive Experience, which took place at The Boiler House in Brick Lane, a rundown, industrial part of East London. As someone who has attended a wide range of London art exhibitions, from high end installations to down and dirty warehouses, I had some idea of what to expect, but nothing could have prepared me for the religious epiphany that lay in wait. But I jump ahead. And how can one not, when one has been transmogrified, soared with angels and, to quote the poet John Gillespie Magee Jr., 'touched the face of God'? 

Upon entry, you are presented with a pair of cardboard 3D glasses, the very same to be found in every children's magazine in the nineties. These 3D specs are sparingly used and, as in the nineties, are at best a tawdry gimmick. You will find nothing spectacular in their application. Indeed, they were a mere teaser for what was to come, an appertif for the main serving.

For those with an interest in Salvador Dali, and surrealism in general, the early information is presented in standard gallery fare, via printed text on walls. The information explores his fascination with cybernetics, science, and mysticism. I learned more about Dali than I thought I knew, such as the full extent of his virtuosity. Not only was he a painter, he also dabbled in film, sculpture, graphic arts, photography, physics, astronomy, novel writing, and much more, all to a high skill level. He was a true Renaissance man. In a world where we are encouraged to find one profession and stick to it, we will not see his like again. I remarked to the friend I was with, that had he been alive today, Dali would most certainly have been a video game developer.

One line from the exhibition which stayed with me was Dali's mission. It is stated that he aimed to 'bridge the gap between man and angel.' This intermarriage between religion and science, a communion I long knew to be entirely possible and necessary, was reinforced for me here. I knew I was on the right track with my personal philosophy. If Dali says something, you stop and listen.

Another thing that jumped out at me (not literally, not yet) was how energetic the man was. The second room is a small cinema, with a looped film of Dali strutting along the street, posturing in front of an audience, and finally being buried in a coffin full of money whilst being sniffed at by an ocelot. All standard fare for the eccentric extrovert. Just watching his antics made me feel tired - us sleepy, modern men are not made for such frolics.

After the film, there is more information and artworks, including an interactive installation involving drawing on an ipad and having your contribution displayed on a large wall mounted display. I did not engage well with this, and rarely do when active interaction is on offer. Imagining all the bacteria accumulating on those screens, my post Covid aversion to humans kicked in. Then it was down a flight of stairs and into the penultimate room - a spacious gallery with moving images projected onto the walls, floor, and ceiling.

Visitors are encouraged to take a seat on the numerous deckchairs or bean bags scattered around, and to watch the visual display. It lasts for some thirty minutes before repeating itself, and there are moments where you can don the 3D glasses for trippy effects. Feet enthusiasts will be excited to learn that at one point, the giant foot of a woman comes out of the wall straight into your face (pictured below). I am not here to judge. We see many of Dali's more famous paintings presented thus. This part of the exhibition was serene and lulled me into a state of lethargy. It acted as a fluffer for the main event, relaxing one's mind and body, rendering one more susceptible to engage with what followed. 

My main criticism of this portion is that the music was ill-chosen, a point I was sure to raise in my customer feedback the next day. Far too aggressive and in some places downright derivative, the music distracted and detracted from, rather than enhanced the experience. The intrusive tracks did not fit well with the surreal, morphing artwork all around. When we have far more suitable scores from Minimalist composers like Philip Glass, Steve Reich and Terry Riley on offer, why resort to such clumsy choices? Was it a licensing issue, or a conscious decision? Either way, it marred the experience.

AI and discussions on its application remains a popular topic at the moment, and part of the immersion experience is given over to showcase AI-generated Dali art. Indeed, as could be predicted, to the untrained eye it was nigh on indistinguisable from Dali's true works. What amused me was the way the music turned sinister and oppressive at this point, to villify the concept for audiences. One could easily imagine the lamentations on the 'death of art' that went on behind the scenes. Earlier in the exhibition, we see a quotation from Dali, who himself prophesied that AI would be the future of art. I am sorry James Cameron, but it was not you who made that prediction.

I appreciate you bearing with me up to this point, but we are now entering the main event. The money shot. The thrilling climax. My spiritual epiphany and conversion to a religion I never knew existed. I present to you the reason for the pilgrimage and the 'engoodening' of the exhibition - the VR section of Dali Cybernetics. From reading other reviews, it distresses me knowing that some people skipped out on this part through fear of the unknown, or perhaps an aversion to new experiences. Forgive them, for they know not what they do. I used to be one of them. I was lost, and saw the light. I was bereft, and found succour. I was a mariner without a compass. A shepherd without a flock. A cosmonaut without a ship, etc. etc. But more on that later, and you will have to wait until tomorrow.

Classic Tanker

For as long as I can remember, I've been having recurring dreams about animals that wouldn't usually be held together, squashed into the same tank, at zoos or aquariums. I call these dreams Tankers, and last night's was as classic as they come. It started with me buying a new house with my wife and trying to figure out how to transport all the bookcases and shelves without a delivery van. There had been a cataclysmic event which had transformed large parts of the world, either burying them underwater, or reverting them to a state of nature. The dream actually helped inspire and fix an issue I've been pondering with regarding my novel. 

We were driving down Greenstead Road in Essex, which had been transformed into a verdant avenue. The houses were gone and had been replaced by palm trees. The road was also gone and was covered instead by a lush, springy swathe of grass, as brilliant a green as might be seen in the Okavango Delta. We drove over the grass and I remarked on how much smoother it felt than driving on tarmac. I said that we shouldn't have made roads in the first place, because any dampness or softness in the soil was still preferable to the numerous potholes that never got repaired on manmade roads. 

It was a beautiful drive, birds singing and chirping either side, tropical flowers blooming, the sun shining. Towards the end of the avenue, the lawn road split into two forks. Between the routes, a central area filled with ferns and shrubs was home to a colony of king penguins who lay on their bellies, soaking up the sun. It was an Edenic experience, and I was happy that a place which formerly filled me with dread had been so transformed. This was the road where Osgood Smiths, one of my first jobs, a dregrading confectionary warehouse, had been situated.

We parked the car at the end of the avenue and were informed by a woman at a ticket counter that it was known as as the Green Belt, and formed part of a zoological complex. I told her that I wished to see bison, and she directed us to another part of the zoo. We passed a large tank, home to several species, including a large variety of tropical fish. It was simulatenously a water-filled tank with aquatic animals, and also a place for terrestrial species. There were lots of small monkeys who played with the fish, reaching up to grab them as they swam overhead. How the monkeys breathed underwater, I had no idea, it was more like the fish were floating in air. A group of enormous komodo dragons crawled by close to the glass, dragging their heavy, muscular tails. They were more fearsome and a lot bigger than their real life counterparts, with protruding fangs like vipers. A zoo keeper called to his colleague that they had not been fed recently, for they appeared to be hunting the monkeys.

Further along, I saw cramped, bubble windows where two walruses slumbered on top of one another, awkwardly folded into the tiny area. More smaller windows with micro exhibits came next. There was another curled up walrus, this one a sickly shade of yellow. I spotted a marmot, or groundhog, with nothing more than a small pool to wash its face. Next to it was a European beaver, smaller than its American cousin and looking more like a muskrat. Similarly to the marmot, it only had a tiny area to live in, most of which was water with a few branches to climb onto. Between these smaller tanks and the large one, there was a small drawer that could be opened. Inside were two little robotic companions. They were made out of plastic and electronics, and responded to different forms of petting. The one I played with looked like a pink weasel. I tickled its belly and it squirmed around in my hand with programmed glee.

I noticed a commotion in the larger tank, so returned to take a closer look. The two walruses were gone and I saw that their bubble communicated to the larger tank by a gap at the top. Having uncurled themselves, the walruses were now much bigger, and floated around the tank with the other animals. Viewability was not good, as there were only a few portholes through which to look, but I caught side of their ragged, rear flippers pounding through the murky water. One of the fish from the tank had escaped, and hovered strangely in the air. It had a short trunk, and was known as a hog-nosed fish. I angled my head for a better look at the surface of the tank and saw the frilled head of an animatronic triceratops charging through the water. One of the walruses had grappled onto the side of it with its flippers and was slashing its tusks ino the dino's rubbery hide. 

The dream turned a bit strange at that point, so I won't go into further details. We had to form a row, dressed in various historical outfits (I was a cultist), and complete an assignment for sweets and VR rewards.

Cooksbridge Sea Lion

In this dream, it had been raining a lot, and the river Ouse had swollen its banks. A lot of runoff made its way to the street outside our house in Cooksbridge, creating a deep, expansive puddle on the road. I was in Lulu's bedroom looking out of the window when I saw a black hump emerging from the pool, and cutting a path through the water. A head emerged, and I saw that it was a sea lion. I had heard of seals being spotted in the Ouse, but not sea lions. I called my daughter over and lifted her up to see, but she did not share my susprise or excitement. The sea lion did not know what to do, and appeared to be swimming in endless circles, occasionally emerging for a quick blast of air. After a while of this, it left the puddle completely and began worrying the neighbour's wheely bins, knocking them over and ripping out the plastic bags. The neighbours called animal control, who were on their way to relocate it.