How strange. My dream last night was incredibly clear. The slate floor was covered in sawdust. The girl’s ankles were pale, slim, bare: I held them tight as I bound her into position for her flogging. She was obedient, compliant, as if resigned to her fate.

Only – and here’s what surprised me – she was being held down by iron shackles. Heavy, old. She winced at the cold as the metal made contact with her skin. No doubt she’d be wincing and writhing for other reasons within moments.

Surprising? Well, it struck me that I don’t think I’ve ever pictured metal cuffs before: my dream girls have always been strapped down with leater binds, tied with rope. But metal? I rather like the idea: I might have to browse eBay later.

Depressing, too, as I think about it. Because that was the sum total of the dream: ankles, not a whole girl. Shackles, not the entire whipping frame. Fixing into her position, not the punishment itself. Still, it was so vivid that I have a very pleasant picture in my mind to carry me through the busy day ahead…