A Note for Richard T Montague

Oh Richard T Montague. I didn't mind you coming up the stairs at first because you seemed like a competent train guard. I knew you had to check the tickets, but I didn't mind, because I was on the front seat of the upstairs carriage of the train. Sunny day and a wide empty carriage. You checked my tickets but then asked me to help sort out the seats. This I tried to do - as a favour because you seemed alone - and I couldn't put the seats back again. I'm sure it was in no way connected to this, but the upstairs carriage of the train became larger, and resembled my Nan's bathroom when she lived down Wells Road. I managed to remove more seats, and was unable to put them back again. I was very worried, but then I suddenly realised; this was not my job, and I could not possibly get into any kind of trouble. In fact, I was sure that you, Richard T Montague would probably not even remember it was me who ripped up the seats and couldn't put them back again - even though it was you who asked me to help. 

At this juncture I, of course, woke up.