The World According to... Boring John

Are you?

I dream about a place where men respect women; where white laughs together with black; where people smile at each other (yes, even in London); where there is enough for all - enough time, enough food, enough love; where mistakes are tolerated and even forgiven...

Er, no!

(My mythical 'reader' must now imagine the 'scratched record' sound of a stylus being forced back to the beginning.)

I _____ dream _______ of

. . . . . . . much

. . . . . . . . . . . . . darker

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . things.

I dream of ex-Radio 1 DJ, now Classic FM stalwart, Simon Bates (that's scary enough as it is, let's be honest!) snogging a woman at a party that wasn't his wife. (For some reason, this reality of married man's life seemed to disturb me.)

I dream of weddings and getting my smart clothes dirty, and then (much, much worse in the world of dreams, this I can tell you!) I dream that I cut myself, that I am bleeding.

I dream that I'm speaking to people, trying to get their attention ("what food would you like me to cook, everybody?"), but no-one can hear me. No one is listening.

I dream of being shot in the head by troops rounding up insurgents (i.e. me) and despatching them mercilessly, almost gleefully, with the justice of war. I even feel the 'moment of death'; I even visit my dead body a few days later, see the bullet wounds.

When I dream of sex it either doesn't involve me and I'm just a frustrated watcher, or it does involve me and I really wish it didn't (I couldn't possibly tell all, here. Let me save it for my first post-success interview with, ooh, Psychologies magazine or maybe even The Big Issue.)

And even when I dream of Cowboys (no Indians), there's a sinister edge to proceedings. Caves are involved, and killings, lots of killings.

And I always, always, always dream of the scary geyser who, for some unknown reason, always wants to seem to run after me. And despite the fear that propels my legs, he always seems to be able to run faster than me. Alright, he's never quite caught me yet, as I always seem to wake up, but I really wish he had caught me in my teens, when he first appeared, as now I'd be able to just get on my with my much-needed sleep.

Is it any wonder, my fellow dreamer, that I completely understand the similar plight of one little yellow boy called Bart Simpson, who is often seen waking from disturbing dreams, screaming.

Ay caramba, what a dreamer I am!

PS I did dream of meeting the Dalai Llama once. I couldn't possibly tell you what happened now could I! Let's just say that there were no sex scenes and nobody died!