There have been plenty of times when I’ve woken in a cold sweat, relieved beyond all measure that the events of my dreams can not penetrate into real life. Since I was a little girl, for example, I’ve had a recurring nightmare which involves me digging on the beach and finding the heads of people I know in the sand. Nice.

Last night’s dream though, unlike most of my others, would have been pretty fabulous had it materialised.

I dreamt I was in Germany and in need of a phone charger. Reluctant to buy one because of the different sockets, I asked the clerk in the store – and I was apparently able to speak flawless German – if they had any that would fit a UK plug. Yes, they did, however you got a free pair of curtains and an automatic sports car with said charger.
“Hmm,” husband replied, looking dubious, “I don’t think Ryanair would let us take those back on the plane.”
I whacked him in the arm, told the clerk we’d take 2 of the cars and drove off towards home and our Cornish summer holiday in what could only be described as a 50s beach-mobile.

I don’t know if this dream was a direct result of Charlie and I getting a little over-zealous last night whilst teaching a knobby girl on a scooter a lesson in highway etiquette, or whether I just really want a convertible. Either way, I woke up with that slightly reckless, slightly self-destructive feeling that only large quantities of alcohol or the autobahn can satisfy… sigh. Time for work.

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