I dreamt I was back in my childhood home in Phibsboro', but it had elements of the Mukuru slums of Nairobi.
I dreamt the people had made a rubber building block. This was like a rubber pillow, made with a hard rubber external surface, but packed with desiccated rubbish. Basically, you got a rubber container, packed it tight with chopped-up rubbish, and attached the rubber lid, then sealed it with a blow-torch or something like that. It seemed to be a way of turning rubbish into building material.
You could build a wall with these rubber bricks, sealing the wall with a blow-torch or glue.
I was in the kitchen of our house. This is a galley kitchen. It is the back part of the passage that leads from the front door to the back door. There is a passage about three feet wide in between cabinets lining the wall on each side (cooker and cabinets on one side and kitchen sink and cabinets on the other).
Now, I was receiving information about this wonderful rubber block invention from people standing blocking the kitchen door, who appeared to be Polish immigrants, babbling in their own tongue, but obviously thinking it would be good if I accepted, in some way, the value of their invention. Homeless, they hoped to build houses for themselves with this cheap invention.
My father was at the back door, trying to bring his bicycle through the house. The bicycle shed was in the back yard, so, we had to bring our bicycles through the house. They might be parked outside the front during the day, but, for security, they had to be brought into the back at night.
"Go back into the dining room out of my way," said father. But my way was blocked by these people. I could not move.
My father got angry. He had to get to work, and his way was blocked by me. He did not seem to appreciate that I was stuck where I was by him and the Polish people.
"Didn't I tell you to get out of the way!" he roared.
