Dreams are wonderful things, I have often whiled a way a happy night imagining myself canoodling with a famous rockstar, mentioning no names coughDaveGrohlyousaucybugger, or filmstar.
I'm lucky as well in that my dreams are pretty lucid, I have the ability to plot what I want to happen next, a bit like the brilliant choose your own endings goosebumps books my darling daddy brought me back from America when I was a little girl. In one memorable dream I was being attacked by a murderer (you just know he was a murderer), then poof he was a dwarf and poof that scary knife he was carrying was now an inflatable hammer. Now some may argue that that picture is potentially more concerning than the original, not I.
I must have done something nice to myself for my subconscious to reward me with two celebrity based dreams in a row, the night before last I was doing my weekly dream shop, standing at the till in the supermarket waiting to pay for my groceries when who do I spy in front of me? Good old Steve Buscemi. We chatted for a while, vegetable related banter and suchlike and started talking about the world, culminating in him asking me on a date (how wonderful!). During our prolonged conversation about our world views, the chap behind me starting tutting and coughing, turning round to apologise I saw that it was the very lovely Ewan McGregor. Now let me assure you, in reality as much as I love Mr Buscemi, I would forgo conversation with him in favour of Ewan, if only on the off chance we could break into 'Come What May' from Moulin Rouge together. My dream self however ignored the scot and carried on my purchasing. MADNESS I tell you.
My second celebrity dream, no doubt inspired by the fact that my love life is lived vicariously through watching copious amounts of Friends, Sex and the city and how I met your mother, me and Mr Big from SATC ended up in my neighbour's house and we made hot dirty sexytime. It was quite wonderous, not just because normally my dreams don't allow me to go beyond kissing a man.
I quite fancy taking a nap now, maybe next time I'll be in the middle of a Colin Farrell/Christian Bale/Heath Ledger (living of course) sandwich.
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