A woman staggered onto the bus, carrying a giant armful of pussy willows. ('BAD LUCK!', I could hear my mother squawking...) She was also carrying a cup of coffee and eating a croissant. She actually sat in my lap, and laughed. She did apologise, spraying bits o' pastry.
Oh well, she didn't scald me with her coffee, anyway.
Bizarre dream about the grey-faced ghost of Michael Jackson in the lift of my building. He points meaningfully at the bumpy metal walls, which are covered in what looks like honey.