Can only remember snatches of last nights dream. It all started in a circular bar that looked out on to the sea. I was with Monkey Dave, who was drowning his sorrows about something or other. He kept saying that he was going to go home, but kept drinking which was odd.
We were sat at one of those high tables again, on stools – what is it about them that makes me constantly dream about them?
Suddenly we were no longer sat at the high table, but at a more modest table close to the window. As I remember the view was amazing. Monkey and I had been joined by some geezer from work. I have only met this bloke once in real life, and he works in marketing I think, and his name is Graham (but don’t quote me on that). Since I have moved to Bush house with work, I have seen him two or three times in the corridor or walking up the stairs.
Thing is it wasn’t just him – he was a combination of the Graham and a bloke I know as Blueshite Phil, a gay Everton support. I don’t know if Graham is gay or not.
Why does this matter? Well he was sat opposite me and the Monkey (with his back to that lovely view), telling us how he had now gone straight and got himself a girlfriend, and possibly (can’t remember for sure) had a bairn or two.
How come he had gone straight? Because he couldn’t take the homoephobic shit he was taking at work. Who was dishing this out? None other than Peter Salmon (head of BBC Sport), Andrew Thompson (head of BBC Sport interactive) and Mark Byford (who is a massive cheese at the Beeb).
He then disappeared and I left Monkey nursing a Guinness at the high table again, looking very forlorn.
And then it got really daft. The Cylons had invaded. Yes that’s as in the Cylcon’s from Battlestar Galactica. They looked like a mixture of the classic 70s/early 80s design in body, but with the new 2003 versions head. More infuriatingly they didn’t make that noise when the red light went across their eyes.
So I was trapped (or had been placed) in a room with various unnamed people. They were starting to panic. I started barking that ‘those Cylon bastards may have killed loads of people, but we have to use this to fuel our anger and fight back. Use it to fuel your anger. FUEL YOUR ANGER.’ (USA, USA wooo wooo etc)
At this point we heard a Cylon come down the corridor. As he started to open the door, I jumped on the door frame, and then jumped back onto his back.
At this point someone else wacked him with across the head with a big stick (though why they would lock us in a room with big sticks I don’t know). He went crashing down, his head hanging off his body.
Just to be certain that he was totally incapacitated/dead I instructed someone to stamp on his head. Which they duly did.
And then I woke up.