Last night, I had a dream that I was Jeremy Clarkson. The reasons for mentioning this are twofold: firstly, I don't dream much. The time between going to sleep and waking up is often to short to get in a bit of REM sleep. And to be honest, if I do ever dream then the chances are I would forgot it anyway, my age being what it is.
Secondly, I know for a fact that Golfy fancies Jeremy Clarkson. If I try to evaluate the feelings this thought arises in me on the Cringe Scale, then it falls somewhere between the dream I used to have where I was sitting naked outside the Headmaster's office (it was meant to be a parents' evening), and the feeling I had when I awoke at 9am in Athens Airport. I appreciate this latter experience obviously sounds rather lame, but I should add the rest of the story. We were Interailing through Europe and had arrived at Athens Airport at 1am. Doing what all rightful backpackers do, I got out the rollmat and sleeping bag and went to sleep on the floor, only to awake in the middle of the main area at 9am during rush hour, with my fellow travelers doing nothing but sitting and watching me. (Note to self: there is a blog somewhere in my Interailing stories.)
Anyhow, back to Jeremy. I have to say it was quite fun being the big man. No longer did I have to be troubled by those irritating things like recycling, driving a diesel and other people's feelings. It was not all plain-sailing though. The hair was a nightmare. Where it does exist, and that is diminishing by the day, it is, how do I put this without offending, curly. What do you do with curly hair? I know what I did in my dream; I died it white and shaved it in to little balls like a poodle. I must check him out on Top Gear just to check it was a dream.
As for Golfy, I also know he fancies Esther Rantzen*, whose experience in politics should, by rights, kill off any wish to stand as an MP. She stood on an anti-sleaze ticket in Luton South against Margaret Moran who did some dodgy things, the final thing being that she stood down, and her replacement was a church pastor. Dear old Esther got only 17** votes and lost her deposit, which was, apparently, a 69th birthday present to herself. Next year she is buying herself a stick with which she intends to beat herself.
So that is my dream. What is yours?
* My lawyers would like me to point out that Golfy probably does not really fancy Esther Rantzen, and that his taste in women is generally very sound, although there was the time...
** My lawyers would like me to point out that this number was written for comic value, and that Esther actually polled 1,872 votes.