une affaire de famille

Last night my dreams were, for some reason, guest scripted by Daphne du Maurier*. Jogging in the park**, I encountered the younger scion of a wealthy French family who, after concealing his silver-mounted handgun in my car***, introduced me to the rest of his family - mother, older brother, a few sisters, all working in the family business under the iron rule of the matriarch. There was much politics, blackmail, jealousy, etc, and massive French family dinners. All conducted in French. Also an incredibly beautiful mansion in park-like gardens, swarming with sycophants and servants. Foiling the plot of an older sister to accuse the eldest son of murder and reveal the youngest daughter's heroin addiction, I subsequently eloped with the eldest son, having realised the transitory nature of my attraction to his younger brother. Beautiful engagement ring, deep blue and green stones. As I woke up we were planning how to elude the matriarch's inevitable retribution.

I feel very tired this morning, and not a little paranoid. Also inclined, for some reason, to speak French when not concentrating.

I am still listening to my new Belle & Sebastian, not because I'm obsessed or unimaginative or anything, but because I'm in that "getting acquainted" period.

* Good lord. Is it just me, or do I look faintly like Daphne du Maurier?
** this was clearly one of those wildly unlikely dreams.
*** oops. The Freudian implications of this just occurred to me.