This is Elad. You missed him by a couple of days because he was back home in Israel (that was so inconsiderate, unacceptable behavior on his part). In the photo below he is explaining his interpretation of a dream I had a couple of days ago. I am in my bed listening with an impressed and receptive expression. Our midnight rendezvouses are dangerous because they have the potential to go on forever. The sessions usually start with a pressing issue, i.e. how to answer a text from a guy (the devil being in the detail up to the last full stop or emoticon) to more far-fetched aspirations of whisking Ben Whishaw off to a romantic venue in London (a firm resolution rather than a reverie I must add). 

Elad addresses me as dear babe (*note to self: remember to write on babe in the near future) which sums up our friendship quite nicely. In the beginning of the year, we were called the Liquid Lad and the Liquid Lass for antithetical reasons: his strong intolerance for booze and my brazen tolerance for it. Tolerance meaning amount of consumption before one loses balance on high heels and requires help of third party to stand (me) or tipping point for one to become fluent in English and strips off shirt to show off black beater (him). 

All that being said, the product of today's posting is upsetting because originally I had planned to write about the weird dream I had had of a tall and chalky Victorian woman. But I will have to save my encounter with her for later because I am late for dim sum.