Put your analyst on danger money, baby.

[caddyman]

Up and into work early this morning as advertised. Yawn.

Of course, last night would be the first time in months I had a dream I can actually remember something of. A rather fun one which involved a party at a rather posher new gaff than I can actually afford.

The place appeared to be something of a Victorian townhouse - one of those multi-storey places that, TARDIS-like, seems a lot bigger on the inside than it appears outside. My subconscious seems to have eclectic tastes in decoration, with my dream state home being stuffed full of exotic foreign plants and good leather chesterfield sofas. Overall, it felt like a three-way cross between Kew Gardens, a Victoran morning room, and one of those pine furniture and bookcase theme pubs.

My subconscious knows me too well; better than I know it.

For some reason we kept running out of red wine, and after doing a couple of trips to the local offie myself, I ended up explaining the route (about 50 yards) in laborious detail to, of all people, pauln. pax_draconis was either totally absent, or asleep on a sofa, grinning like a madman, and clutching a bottle of merlot whenever anyone wanted to talk to him.

My subconscious is perceptive, too.

I never did find out who was playing honky-tonk piano in the parlour I didn't know I had, before the alarm went off and dragged me back to reality.

I've had worse dreams.