Zompist Bboard Again

I have many dreams about schools I’ve gone to, and places I used to work. About as often as I dream about family-members who are no longer alive, or ex-wives who aren’t ex in the dream.
(Usually the dream school is a mashup of several former real-life schools, or the business is a mish-mash of several real-life former employers. Usually I can’t keep it straight in the dream whether I’m still married to, or divorced from, whichever exwife I’m dreaming about. I think I’ve only once been unable to keep “which exwife?” straight in my dream.)
As for my dream-self having different politics or different religious views than my real-life self; in the narrow sense, no, never. But I have had dreams set in monarchies, or in worlds where dragons or vampires or such were commonly known to exist.

I had a dream in which I was a sharp-shooter with an iron-sights rifle. I shot a set in which the majority of my shots landed exactly where their predecessors had landed.
….
The memory just now reoccurred to me that something sorta similar happened once (not 50 times, as in the dream) in real life.
In my first riflery course when I was a boy, they set up a rifle none of us were allowed to touch. Then each of us came up to the rifle and peered through the sites at a box one of the instructors was sitting on. In one hand he had a copy of the target’s bull; in the other hand a pencil. We’d tell him how to move the bull until it was where the sight showed it should be; then he’d mark, on a piece of paper, where the hole in the center of the bull was.
Everyone was allowed three tries. I was the only student who was given just two tries; the second was right on top of the first, so “they” didn’t see the need to keep going.
No bullets, no powder, the firing chamber wasn’t even inserted. Still, I aced that simulation!
…
I can’t figure why I’d dream doing that 25 or 50 or 100 times in a row! Now, of all times!

There was a small bird flying through my kitchen. It was near the floor, darting through the legs of the chairs and dinner table. It was like it was kind of…lo-fi. Something about the color palette of everything…kind of like film.

I was planning a walk on the Pennine Way, which was now on the east side of Nottingham, and going through pretty lowland woods by the river Trent rather than bothering with the Pennines. I was remembering going on a walk in that area with my dad when I was a kid, and passing a sign for a place called Eddington, though I wasn’t sure whether I had remembered that right. When I was checking out the route on Google maps I found that one could now view the entire world in a sort of hybrid satellite vs street view mode that had an oblique angled close up view about 45°, and I managed to find the sign that said Eddington on it and felt jubilantly vindicated. However, suddenly on the walk itself, and approaching an abandoned sewage works which was just near the footbridge that led to the wood that had the Eddington sign in it, I found that an obnoxious tribe of climbers had set up an artificial, erm, climbing obstacle course in the form of a pseudo-city with pseudo-skyscrapers kind of cannibalising a nice bit of rock, and there were dozens or hundreds of people lined up ready to climb this monstrosity, and a guy on a megaphone was spouting poisonous pro-climbing propaganda and fat-shaming the nervous, untrained climbers into beginning their dangerous ascents and abseils. It was so loud it was hurting my ears and I felt sad for the climbers and the woods and turned away, hoping that the serenity of Eddington-by-the-abandoned-sewage-works had not been entirely spoiled by this horrific business endeavour