A few nights ago, I dreamt that I was in bed with Matt Lucas. Nothing sexual. We were just trying to make each other laugh. With us being naked and in bed, that was an easily accomplished task. Kudos to my subconscious casting agency for being able to conjure him up though.
Dreams are funny things. You flit between being Jason Bourne, the baddie, Jason Bourne again, the baddie, yourself watching Jason Bourne and the baddie fight, a sandwich in a Parisian cafe, Jason Bourne again, before finally getting ready for school, while thinking "But I'm 22, I shouldn't be in high school any more", and not once do you think "Wait! Wait! Wait! That's not right. Something's not making sense here. Your subconscious brain totally accepts it and it all seems fine and plausible.
If the brain can do that, then I have no doubt that if it malfunctions, it can convince you that Tutankhamen is telling you to go up a clock tower with a high-powered packet of Smash potato.
The adventures with adopt-a-dog continue. He's still living with us. I fear we've bonded. He still has his aggression issues.
Do you think there's a magazine called "Aggression?" People walking into their local newsagents and saying "Hi, I believe you've got some Aggression issues for my husband"
In the house, he's a lovely dog. Outside the house, he's like Mike Tyson. He's family now though. And you don't give up on family just because they want to bite passers-by now and then. Auntie Wilma not withstanding.
