Night of 17th July 2010

I'm reversing the car in the grassy car-park (identical to the one at Bodiam, which I visited in waking life, earlier in the day). I'm not the best at reversing, especially with a turn, as here, so am amazed I pull it off without hitting another's parked vehicle. My car's turning circle shouldn't be so tight, shouldn't allow me to get out in one—but I do. It's not through my skill, I feel overwhelmed and not in control, basically winging it. The car has miraculously made it possible.

Outside the rectangular room, Barack Obama is jubilant. This is his moment of taking office, the first time an African-American has done this in history. I'm right next to him, slightly in front, and unwittingly step into the room first. I instantly realize my faux-par, an especially big one considering it wasn't only his first step in that I ruined, but the first step in of its kind ever in history that I ruined. I quickly turn to Obama, and see he is still joyous and exchanging euphoria with the applauding entourage of staff—he's so joyous, he is crying. Unaware that I'd stepped in the room before he could.

Next I see his wife Michelle at the door. There is a sense that her daughter has just graduated from university, and she is proud and joyous too. Also tearful. I lean over and cup her right cheek with my right hand, and kiss her left cheek.

I wake.