The stuff of dreams

I have a number of recurring dreams which intersperse themselves among the downright weird and freaky. Recently, for example, I dreamt I was at a large dinner party and was lucky enough to be seated next to Charlie Chaplin. He was really rather charming and can actually speak which was never particularly apparent in all those silent movies he obviously preferred to star in. I can't think why because he spoke with a most cultured accent! This was the first dream about the 'little tramp', but by no means the first about famous folk. Naturally we all dream about being seduced by Hugh Jackman every now and again, but I have a persistent sleeping fascination with Kevin Spacey. According to my dreamworld we are in fact best buddies with a friendship going back years. Regrettably I have never actually met the man in person though I used to hang out near the Old Vic which he owns. Well, I say hang out, that makes me sound like a wino loitering in the loosely named gardens opposite the theatre. I'm afraid, I was rather dull and worked for a local financial institution. [here comes a digression: I was going to say that I would have been unlikely to have bumped into a Hollywood A-lister at 3i plc, but I did meet the occasional celeb there - I literally got tangled up with Michael Portillo in the revolving doors, shared a lift with former Radio 1 DJ Peter Powell (very short, looks like a builder) and almost burst with excitement when I spotted Sir Trevor McDonut sitting in reception (very distinguished, looks like a newsreader).

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, dreams. I frequently have to go through the panic of realising that my finals are imminent and I haven't done any revision or preparation and wake up with a cold sweat and the urge to stroke my degree certificate.

And finally, one which perhaps I should not share but loosely involves trying to find a public convenience with a door... Let's just leave it at that...

What is all this waffle and, more importantly, why? Will I wake up soon?