Last week I dreamt about David Marsh. David was the father of my best friend at school, Larry. David died in a tragic domestic accident when Larry was just ten years of age and I can’t recall ever dreaming about him; if I had, it must have been decades ago. With his thinning hair, Michael Caine glasses and jokey personality, David was his same fun self. He teased me about my shy and foolish boyhood ways, and although I was pretty sure he was wrong on a couple of facts, I didn’t challenge the validity of any of his recollections – it was cool being with him again and I didn’t want to kill the vibe. On waking, I couldn’t fathom why after fifty years (!) had passed, should I dream about David. I was left wondering if it was because another member of his family had just died: his widow Valerie, younger son Sean, or indeed Larry himself. My friendship with Lawrence Bennett Marsh (a fun guy, much like his 1960’s-cool dad) had been more on than off, but we’d lost touch just before the internet era and I have no way of knowing what has become of the Marsh family.