So all night, off and on, I dreamt that somehow - or possibly not - I had been in the drab and dingy apartment of some language teacher and - for reasons I coud not remember - I had despatched the person by means of the forceful application of a flat-iron to the side of the head.
The!s person, now defunct, I had concealed in the boot of my car to await some ingenious means of disposal.
Except that even in my dream I remembered that we do not have a car.
But what eluded me was whether I had actually murdered this person and concealed them in someone else's car.
Even on awaking I wondered if I had actually murdered someone at some time...
Then I remembered reading a news article about the macabre discovery of a woman's body in the back of a van in central Bordeaux.
Phew! It wasn't me!