I find dreams interesting. Not in any sense of believing that they reveal innermost desires, nor that they can in any way predict the future or wander into the distant past. I've always found my dreams to be a strange mix of real things from the day, and other things which have wandered into my mind from books or from snatches glimpsed from whatever is on the TV.
But sometimes my mind will come up with something rather lovely, and it can be a disappointment to wake up in the morning and find that it was just a dream.
Last night I dreamt of a Victorian building in Belfast. It was a brick building with huge arches along the front in yellow and red brick. Inside was a long hallway, looking like a brick-built canal with a viewing gallery along the side. Crowds would gather along the edge and wait for the tide. When the tide came into the harbour, a series of tunnels brought the water up and a rush of water would fill the canal violently throwing waves over the crowd who roared with delight. It was just like being at the seaside.
There was something rather lovely about it. I'm just disappointed to wake up and find that this isn't a real thing. I've also never been to Belfast.