Sweet dreams

So I woke up in the hotel room. Down in Cleveden, spending a few days close to Bristol to see a bit of Dave and Jane. But not too close so they wouldn't feel put upon.

The first thing I noticed was that there was writing all over the pillows. I had noted down all the names and phone numbers of people I had meant to contact before I left and hadn't got round to. The pillows were covered in it. I must have been busy during the night.

And just as I was thinking that there must be a way to wash the stuff off before the cleaner came in in the morning I noticed the sound of his radio, tuned as ever to Classic FM. I mean just how real is that, a male cleaner in a hotel and an avid classical music fan at that.

But there it was. And it was a bit too loud. So I got out of bed to investigate and discovered the door to the room was open. That was why I could hear everything. So it was too late for a bit of suruptitious cleaning. I would have to own up.

But then I noticed a few other odd things about the room. My camera case wasn't where I had put it the night before. In fact it was nowhere to be seen. Neither was my baseball cap - used to cradle the car keys, wallet and small change overnight. They had all gone too.

So there I was facing a day cancelling credit cards, trying to remember the car insuracne number as well as explaining why my bed was covered in phone numbers of assorted parishioners.

So I just said, O God, I hope this is a dream.

And I woke up, and it was.