The two weeks of Covid, it seems, wiped my memory clean - but given me new ones. One of those is a Dream - of the most feverish nights - in which I was in a room where all doors out led back into the same room again. Its mosaic floor was of the room I grew up in, back home in Kolkata; its Door a white one like the one in Croydon; its windows showed nothing but an endless array of houses nearby,