I don’t like snakes, or, rather, I fear them. If ever I drink strong alcohol, that night I dream of snakes. On Saturday night after a short party where I drank three cocktails made mostly of whisky and whiskey I had a snake dream. A very long thick snake was in all the low cupboards that ran round the walls of the room I was in. I kept shutting the sliding doors of the cupboards but as I ran to the next one the snake’s head would appear as it grew by the second. It doesn’t take much whisky to get me snake-dreaming.

When I was younger and drank more and my body was more volcanic I used to get a beer spot, in the dead centre of my face on my upper lip, or a wine spot, in the middle of my nose, or a whisky spot in the middle of my forehead. All these pimples were dead centre, an emblematic index to a night spent on the tiles.The body documented the preceeding night, as it now does through snake dreams. The body knows.

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