Met me tonight in dreamland

Has it really been six days? The band, of course, were marvellous. There wasn't a tune one could suggest that they didn't have at their fingertips. We lifted the roof of the big old hall alright. Dancing! Would you believe it! Hundreds wheeeling around while the band lit up the stage.

Fox-trot! Black-bottom! Shuffle-bob! Wincey-quiff! Oh, you should have been there. Many a comment was passed on the number of banjos fronting the ensemble. Three. Four. Seven, sometimes. Everything from tiny little banjolettes smaller than your hand to big bass banjos that fair obscured the player with their sheer size!

She was there, of course. I noticed her first as the ceiling fish-tanked with rippling light and my second falling-down cordial took hold. Hard to believe, at that moment, that this was happening at all; that the massed dancers and the colourful costumes could possibly exist. Hardest of all to comprehend, of course, was the notion that in fact, it didn't; that I was still in my bed in Saint Feasance's, rapt under the chemical ministrations of whatever it is in the syringe they jam into my arm each day.