I woke up in something of a panic this morning, glad to find myself in bed in Beetley, and to realise it was all a dream.
Or to be more accurate, a nightmare.
During that long dream, I was living in a tiny council flat on a large estate in the city of Manchester. My neighbours all looked like various members of the band Oasis, and were standing on the long balconies of the block dealing crack and heroin to a neverending queue of eager customers.
When I tried to go out to the shops, they blocked my path, and mocked my London accent.
I just wanted to get back to Beetley, and couldn’t understand what I was doing in Manchester, or why I didn’t have Ollie with me.
Despite my relief at waking up from this dream, I am completely flummoxed as to why I would be dreaming about something like this in the first place.