I had a dream last night that I decided to take on a paper round.

When I set off with my bag to do my deliveries, the bag I'd been given was actually full of packets of crisps and not newspapers.

Undaunted, I ploughed on, to make my crisp deliveries.

I then realised the list I'd been given only had the first part of the street names on it and not the second. For instance, the first address was, "1, F*nny," but it didn't say if it was F*nny Road or F*nny Street or F*nny Avenue.

So, I went back to the newsagents and the woman there pointed out the small-print on the right-hand side of the page which said I should assume that any incomplete address, or any street that can be accessed by turning right, ends with, "Road."

I set off again.

I then realised that 1, F*nny Road was at the top of a huge hill.

When I got there, it was some sort of industrial park/shopping mall.

I went inside but couldn't work out where to make the delivery.

By this point, I'd bumped into my sister and her husband who'd decided to tag along with me. She told me to put the bag of crisps in a hole in the wall, as that must be for deliveries but, just before I did so, I realised it was actually for used nappies, not food deliveries.

Fortunately, at that point, the woman who'd ordered the crisps appeared from behind a door and took her order. She also gave me change, for some reason, in 5p pieces but dropped them all. So I had to pick them up off the floor.

Then I looked at the next delivery on my list and it was for a school in the same building. I found the baguette that was labelled, "Children's dinners," but then found a second baguette that had no label on it. Was I supposed to deliver this to the school as well, or was it meant for another destination?

At that point, I woke up.

I was at my wit's end from start to finish of it and it was the most stressful dream I have ever had. It has made my mind up never to get a paper round.

Sounds like a load of F*nny to me.

The Call of the Wendigo wrote:

I was at my wit's end from start to finish of it and it was the most stressful dream I have ever had. It has made my mind up never to get a paper round.

Aw poor Wendi



When I did a paper round we wrote the house numbers on the papers to avoid this sort of scenario. This process was known as 'marking up'. Once you'd got used to the round, you just assembled the papers in order cos you knew where to take them, you only had to mark new or unusual items.

Interestingly, a few weeks ago I dreamt that I'd enterprisingly expanded my paper round into a gin round, for people who wanted hard spirits with their breakfast.

In best children's TV style I had a hated rival with a pushy father who was on the council.

Last night I dreamt that I was in Sheffield, waiting for a bus to the university.

When the bus arrived, who should be driving it but the Thirteenth Doctor! She was very friendly but in an annoying way.

She's invading everyone's dreams.

I was standing in a queue for something when I realised that my teeth had dissolved. I put my hand up to my mouth and it went straight through a space where my lower face had been. I covered this up as best I could and continued to queue. For what I never found out.

I was on a large mountain estate in Brazil, which was a front for a labour camp accessed through a garden gate. I escaped from the labour camp by clinging onto the bottom bar of a visiting helicopter. This dropped me off in a park that I realised was in Mexico City. I made my way to the airport under cover of darkness.

The plane contained a giant communal, but very comfortable bed. No seats. I had a maroon duvet and slept the whole way to London. My neighbouring traveller had to convince me to get up from this comfort or I'd be taken right back to my life of hard labour.

I invented a protean lifeform.

Then I created a second one.

Then I put them next to each other, on the ceiling, so they'd merge with each other and become a larger protean lifeform.

Then they merged with each other.

Then they turned into distilled water.

I hate science.

It's like those dreams you used to report years ago where you had pet animals and they always died.

I was driving up the circular ramp in a multistorey car park which never ended, while Boris Johnson sat in the passenger seat booming out various boasts and slogans. It was a relief to wake up. I feel a bit tired today.

I had a drink-free evening yesterday, and that always gives me vivid dreams. This time I dreamt that I'd gone to my parents for Christmas, and I was questioning my dad about where their television was. He kept evading answering, and I knew that he'd lent it to the people over the road, and I was getting more and more infuriated with his lies, till I was on the verge of thumping him.

A few days ago I dreamed I was looking after a small and affectionate male toddler. The room we were in had French windows that opened out onto the main road. There were bars of chocolate on a table, and I left the room to get a drink.

When I returned the windows were open and the curtains were billowing in the breeze. The boy and all the chocolate were gone. My initial thought was to tell his parents he had stolen the chocolate and therefore I couldn't be blamed for his criminal act and subsequent flight from justice.

Then I was overcome with a terrible panic that he might've strolled into the road, so I rushed outside and found myself in a branch of Marks and Spencer. I was screaming and seizing people by their collars asking if they'd seen him. They hadn't.

I knew that the nearest B&Q was located underground so, with great effort, I lifted a manhole cover up from the pavement and climbed down a very long ladder to get there. Once in store I continued my fruitless search for the child, overcome by now with hysteria.

The rising sense of dread and horror led to me waking up.

I'm now looking forward to a few dreamless weeks courtesy of my new Ambien stocks.

Last night I dreamt that I was explaining something to Nightjar and I drew a pencil diagram to show him.

He said that my drawing was 'untutored' and he proceeded to teach me how to do pencil shading properly.

Also he boasted that he had access to special 'for artist use only' pencils with grades 7B to 10B.

Sounds legit.

But did he have access to 2B pencils?

You should have demanded of him, "2B or not 2B? ."