I was standing in Charing Cross station when a beautiful young goddess ran in front of me towing a wheelbarrow full of candyfloss. With the agile mind of a teenager I removed my teeth and threw them in her direction to get her attention. She halted, the wheelbarrow crashed into her legs, rose in the air and deposited the candyfloss on her head.

‘Oh good. It’s you DP’, and then she dived into the public lavatories.

I got off my horse and started picking bluebells. I lifted one up to have a closer look and it turned into a bust of Pamela Anderson. I couldn’t see her face.

I started running but it was like wading through molasses. I lifted up my dress but it didn’t help. I sank down feeling very depressed and then remembered I had some gingernuts secreted in my frilly knickers.

A policeman appeared who appeared to have the appearance of a map of Wales tattooed on his forehead.

‘I’m not vain but I hate varicose veins. Oh DP ….. DUCK!!!!’

I suddenly understood the Welsh connection.

And then I woke up. Does anyone else have dreams like this? (Yes, but I don’t have to go to sleep to do it. Why IS that? Lo,TG Ed)