They were all wearing the same black trousers and jackets, made from a kind of matt, waterproof stiff material. Two arrived in a saloon, another two in a white van, then another two in a Ford Escort.

We were sitting in the car waiting for Ta Med Da to open.

They’re police, I said to him. Look they’re all dressed the same. There were no markings or badges, though. The uniform but not the uniform. There were women and men. Oh, he said, I’ve seen them here before, loads of times. They come here for breakfast.

I looked down the hall and there they were all seated at the same table, eating. Do you suppose that they have to socialise together outside of work? I asked him. Or do you think it is just what they do? Dunno, he said, maybe.

Coming back with our coffees he told me that he’d told L. that they were coppers (I’d seen his head jerk in their direction). Oh, she said, unimpressed, once a copper, always a copper.

My dreams feel portentous and more than a little alarming at present. I only caught the last frame or so. I was watching from a short distance as a woman ran after a couple of dogs. She was wild with fury, screaming and shouting. She was running and the dogs were running, seemingly away from her. She caught up with them and grabbed one by the scruff of its neck. Then she stabbed at it, driving the knife into its neck. The dog acquiesced, didn’t cry out in pain, or bite or snarl at her. It seemed to accept the punishment, submitting to it willingly even. I was horrified. Such anger, such revenge. What had they done? There was no blood but I felt the wounding as if it were done to me. When I woke the word idiocy was in my head.

The rain was relentless as I walked. I’d heard it through my open window as I dozed, trying not to dread my encounter with it. I attempted to find the pleasure in it as I walked. It kept everyone indoors. I was alone, seeing only the homeless man sleeping on his cardboard box in the Prom shelter and a couple of kids hanging around in the doorway to The Angel. I like the rain on my face, it feels clean. I like to wear his big coat, it envelopes, drowns me with its heaviness. The sound of the rain on the trees, on the roofs and rattling the rigging on the boats down the harbour is beautiful. And my big boots kept dry even when I stepped into several puddles.

A busy day yesterday. It is beginning to feel real. The filmmaker got in touch and the costume is also seeming possible. I fretted a little when I went to bed. Ideas taking form, taking shape are always exciting, if a little alarming. I shall have to do it. Will I find the courage?

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.