A Dream of Rishi

 

I have a dream, that is, I have a dream every night.  In fact, just as I wake, the dream leaves an emotional mark upon me.  Often this is pleasing, occasionally it is dark.  The other day, I began scribbling this several days ago, I woke at the end of a dream in which my nephew was trying to move into a block of housing owned by the Chinese.  The Chinese woman in charge was rather indignant with this and somewhat roughly demanded I sorted it out.  She had yellow forms in her hand, line after line of written information showing, and the thought that he wanted 16 houses was somewhere in this dream.  I made it clear his wife would not let this happen, then woke up. 

What does this mean?  

My nephew has not been around for many days, Chinese housing not at all, and the irate woman, well I always find them!  A man on Twitter mentioned his dream in which Simon Sharma put his head around the door asking for 'Foot Cream.'  Where do these dreams originate?  

Now I quite like the good dreams, I wake happy with them, but they do not adhere to reality.  Maybe one day we can catch them on a mobile phone and terrorise the world with them?  This may be where Salvador Dali obtained his ideas...

Once again the Prime Minister has avoided PMQs.  Several times he has hidden himself away in the far distance, and as usual it is to avoid hard questions.  With trouble brewing as Tommy Robinson and his hired thugs gather 'to protect the Cenotaph,' while Palestinian demonstrators gather miles from the Cenotaph and head in a different direction, and Suella Braverman the Home Secretary fizzes and screams that she wants to be PM, Sunak is found missing in action.  

This is a surprise...