and a pink leotard - I'm not saying which one of us was wearing the leotard though!

*cue squiggly lines like on Tales of the Unexpected*

Mrs W and I were with a bunch of friends in Sheffield for a full day of entertainment. We were going to watch Everton play (I hope in a cup, rather than a league game) against an unspecified Sheffield team in the afternoon, then on to see Bob Dylan at the local enormodome (again, unidentified, but I guess the Hallam Arena).

So far, so good. However one of my mates suddenly threw a spanner in the works by producing tickets for the same night to go and see Captain Beefheart (yes, you read that right) at the University.

What to do? I wanted to change plans and go and see the Captain but everyone else was having none of it - my argument that "I've seen Dylan before and may never get to see Beefheart again" fell on deaf ears. "Too weird", was the general consensus.

Things then took a slightly surreal turn as suddenly, Beefheart himself appeared in the bar we were sat in, exhorting all and sundry to come along to the show that evening. In defiance of the country's anti-smoking laws, he had a big cigar on and was accompanied by a slightly shady character I took to be his manager.

Readers, I wish I could tell you what decision we took (I suspect I chose the Captain over the Poet in defiance of my friends) and how, indeed, the Captain performed at this surprise and no doubt one-off gig. Sadly, the sleep fairies chose to wake me before the final act.

Great dream tale, a lot better than Winehouse and her roast potatoe greed!

involved my being hopelessly lost in a forest during a violent storm, eventually coming across an old cottage with a light on inside. I knocked on the door and found to my surprise that it was the abode of one Polly Harvey, who answered the door sans clothing with a black cat at her feet. I asked her if I could come in and warm myself, and I did just so... although not in the manner I had been expecting.

I have an occasional dream where I run confidently onto the stage in front of a packed house, plug in, murmur a quick "hello" into the mic and turn to the drummer who's tapping out the count-in.

But through all this sub-conscious stuff there's a semi-conscious me going what song is this? what key is it in? If it's not C/Am/F/G I'm going to get bottled...

A pretty standard stress dream I guess. But I never get to find out if I can play in my dreams or not. I wake up with the sticks' clicks.

I rarely remember my dreams, but last week I had a vivid dream in which I was at an open air gig. I can't remember who the band were, but I do remember that Mark Ellen, for some reason, was annoying everybody because he was flying a helicopter from which part of the lighting rig was suspended, and kept swooping in and out of the stage.
Just to make sure I wasn't revealing too much of my deviant psyche I looked up helicopters in an online dream dictionary where it said that seeing one in a dream was a sign of ambition, and being in full pursuit of your goals. Last week I was also putting together a presentation for an interview I am having soon.
God knows what Mark Ellen was doing in my head, though.

....tramping across a suitably Peter-Jackson-esque mountain scape. On reaching the top of a particularly craggy peak, I came across a gift shop, the proprietor of which was Elton John wearing a rather fetching tutu.

And then there was the time I was being pursued across a cornfield by a shadowy figute. After making some panic-induced corn circles, I turned round to see Mick Jagger puffing his way through the crops.

I was in a graveyard with John Leslie the other night (he was trying to sell me tickets to Mamma Mia), but that's not something I'm particularly proud of.....