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My dream last night was strange, but strangely enjoyable. I was asked to entertain the Queen for 3 hours. We managed to pack quite a lot in, including a game of whist, a visit to a Scottish castle, and tea with some of my neighbours. I like to think that she went away happy, but throughout the visit I was distracted by HM’s teeth, which struck me as unusually good for a woman of her age. I wanted to ask her if they were all hers, but thought better of it, for fear that such an enquiry might be regarded as treason.
I love a good sleep. Or at least I think I do. But apparently last night I shouted out (in my sleep), “This driver’s psychotic!”. I’ve no idea what was going on, whether the driver in question was a memory of the taxi driver in India who nearly rolled the taxi off the road on a hairpin bend, or the bus driver in China, who routinely knocked cyclists off the road by passing too close to them. Or maybe I was just dreaming about a bad round of golf? Either way, I can’t help thinking that I wasn’t having the most peaceful of nights, and that maybe I don’t love a good sleep at all.
