I am dozing on a sun lounger; under a Carob tree; in the Algarve; overlooking the Ria Formosa Natural Park and a glittering sea beyond.

I am dreaming. A Daily Telegraph sketch writer has just become Prime Minister; England has won the cricket World Cup; I am about to watch a Mozart opera, “The Goose of Cairo”.

Memo to self: must give up oysters at lunchtime. They provoke dreams. Oysters are served, fresh from the lagoon, in the local marisqueira, Fialho; delicious, but bad for seamless sleep. Once, when I ordered half a dozen ostras, Fernando, the fisherman whose family has owned rickety Fialho for as long as memory serves, slipped off to the lagoon in his waders to hoik out my lunch.

So, can’t be a bad oyster creating these visions from hell, so, what? … Hang on. I’m actually awake! This is all happening!