Strange dream last night, with a surprising amount of detail.
Marita and I were travelling in Scotland. After visiting a remote village, we had to climb by a kind of rope-ladder thing back up to the railway station (which was on a very high metal bridge).
After getting on the train, it continued towards the Fourth Bridge, which someone remarked was named after Charles the Fourth, but that it only opened 26 years after his death.
Except of course in real life there has been no Charles the Fourth (at least in Britain), it’s actually the Forth Bridge and it’s named after the body of water it crosses: the Firth of Forth.
Later on we were in London with Isaac and Jeremy as well. A policeman was handing out cards of a wanted football (soccer) player, who was apparently expected to flee to the USA, as he had a US passport and citizenship. At this point I knew fully well I was in a dream, but seemed to be happy to go with it.