I don’t often remember my dreams nowadays, but I did the other morning. I know you will be eager to hear about it so make yourself comfortable and I’ll begin.

Before I do, though, hands up anyone who dreams in colour? For some reason this question seems to keep coming up and I am somewhat bemused. Doesn’t everyone?  How would you know which bottle of wine to pick otherwise, or is that just me?

To the dream then…

The reason I asked about colour was that it was a strange mixture of black and white with colour mixed in, like they do for special effects sometimes. It was a dark and snowy night, so things were pretty monochrome naturally. We were in a wood, with the moon shining through gaps in the wind-blown clouds. I thought to myself, “This is like a dream I had when I was little and being chased by a witch on her broomstick in the forest.”

Of course there was no witch, that was a silly childish dream.

I was in a race. I had to ride an old Victorian bicycle, a boneshaker (although the umpire called it a Penny Farthing, which it clearly wasn’t; the man was an idiot). I was dressed in uniform because I was a member of the US Cavalry. Do you suffer gender changes in dreams too? Anyway, I was in the race for the honour of whatever group of cavalry people I was supposed to belong to. The uniform was brown. I could see the trousers as I cycled through the snowdrifts. It was hard work.

My opponent was a Mountie on a moose.  This was the really colourful bit. His coat was bright red so he showed up in the snow and the moonlight.

The moose was moose colour, but it was not a normal moose. I think that goes without saying, but this moose was a Dr Seuss Moose. It had big floppy furry feet, like a Muppet, and it galumphed over the snow without sinking. I felt this gave the Mountie an unfair advantage.  However, as moose (meece?) don’t like to run uphill, I was holding my own despite the snow. Maybe it all evened out.

We were crashing and gasping through the trees in the dark and the blizzard. Have you seen The Snowman? It was like the motorcycle ride through the woods, although we didn’t see any foxes. The Mountie kept yelling to me, but he was yelling in Quebecois, which I couldn’t follow what with the wind and the pedalling and the being so out of breath. I thought, “Thank goodness I’m in the cavalry because it means I’m fitter than in real life.” Do you have that kind of layer of awareness when you dream, sometimes, that it is a dream, and just kind of interesting to watch?

I would like to tell you I won. I would like to tell you I made him eat my slush. At least I didn’t lose. I was saved by Sigoth’s alarm going off.

OK, it was a stupid ream without a beginning, middle or end. Aren’t they all? And I never promised you a structured and articulate narrative.

Sleep tight.