I’m not normally the sort to (a) remember my dreams or (b) to mention them, but a freaky coincidence of (a) remembering and (b) someone else muttering about dreams has inspired me.

Oh, and a little bit of (c) – being frankly very, very worried about what my mind is going on about.

So, here’s a few little bits that stuck in my memory.

• Helicopter lesson, with a really hot girl as instructor. Except the transponder was on 7500 and lots of people were interested in what I was doing. Oh, and we couldn’t find anywhere to land…
• Except we did land, and changed aircraft into a Cessna 172, on the principle that it would be easier to land once we found our main destination…
• Except that the instructor wouldn’t let me fly about 500m, and there was an unfortunate air-ground interface caused by a high-tensile electricity cables. So that was an emergency landing in the south of France, which was particularly strange since we’d been flying over Strangford Lough…
• There then followed a confusing few moments of running across motorways in Marseilles. Which is very odd indeed, because I’ve never been there…
• Met up with the Top Gear lads – as you do – outside a car park. Where it was discovered that their cars had been concreted into said car park. This was most annoying for fans of the show, because Top Gear Dog had been firmly compressed to death in the back of Richard Hammond’s mini.
• It was all OK though, because I knew of another car park where we could all get nice, shiny american muscle cars. So we went there and all chose our vehicles.
• Only to be chased out of the car park by a nasty group of Cuban revolutionaries, led by Che Guevara.
• It was OK, though, because a USian fellow sued Che in court and got us the cars.

At this point, I woke up and booked myself in for a short stay at the lovely Knockbracken Mental Health Bed & Breakfast.

I think that was the correct course of action.