London through rose-tinted glasses

I dreamt of London last night.

I dint know why but its still as clear as it can get.

There wasn’t anything eventful in the dream but I found myself roaming endlessly and aimlessly in the city.

I took pictures of the Big Ben and Instagrammed it (Yes, even in the subconscious)

I lived in a house with a bright red door.

I sat on the stone cold benches in front of Tate.

I even caught a splash of the bitterly cold rains.

Hot chocolate in hand, I was very contented.

I think I woke up smiling.

London dreams are good for me. I suspect that they arise from my deep obsession. Not necessarily a bad thing.

My mum mentions that there is this book that helps decipher dreams. Anyone know what it is?