I dreamt that I met an old colleague from Britain. I was sitting in an open-door restaurant or café with a bunch of people when he appeared in a large group. Quite suntanned, he wore colorful shorts and a T-shirt. I remember that he looked surprisingly young, strong, and healthy. I got up to embrace him. Our meeting was not only friendly, but also cordial. That is all I remember of our encounter, but the interesting part comes after I woke up. I immediately realized the colleague was Peter Brandon, whom I first met at an academic conference in Canada in 1984. I was teaching in the States at the time, my move to Britain six years away still. It took me a while to calculate that I was thirty-eight back then, which would make Peter about forty-four. In my dream he looked about that age, too. As I was thinking about my dream, it made more and more sense to me. From 1984 on, we would meet every year at the same annual conference, which always took place somewhere completely different—Scotland, Hungary, Australia, Portugal, Sweden… Sadly, we became bitter academic enemies many years later, but we were very friendly early on. Anyhow, the most stunning part of my dream was that something that could have happened so many years ago struck me as almost incredible on account of the time’s passage. In other words, it reminded me of my own implausible—nay, impossible—age. Sixty fucking one!