I had to get something from my office quickly while somebody waited for me. When I got there, a security screen had been lowered in front of the door. I pressed the button to roll it up. (In the dream, this is unusual, as no-one tends to use the screen. In real life there is, of course, no such device.) It had been raining, and the screen was made of chipboard. As it rolled into the mechanism, its structural integrity failed and it became a mush, covering the stairs in front of it. Traversing it was like walking in quicksand: I could not reach the door without getting stuck.

Moments later, I came across a colleague and student but I could not speak to them. My mouth was full of the chipboard mush. I opened my jaw and reached in, extracting great fistfuls, globules, like balled chewing gum, reaching down with my thumb and forefinger to extrude more from my throat, but it just kept coming and coming: gag, muzzle, choking hazard.