Another intriguing one: my old mucca, nicknamed Jilted John and me were down in London. We had somehow ended up at this house with a bunch of middle aged couples, I got speaking to several and most of the women were without make-up, but all were good company. I was chatting and getting into some deep conversations when Jilted John came in wanting to know what all the conversation was about. He was as he had been aged about 25, handsome but naive as could be.
They invited us to go to a party in the Home Counties somewhere, but we needed to decline as we needed to get back to the Wirral, for what I will never know. Anyway, as we were planning on the best way to get to Euston Station, all the couples came down. Makeup and cocktail dresses hadn't improved the beauty of the ladies.
Next thing, we're in Euston Station and there's a load of Gurkhas in there with some shaman/priest types looking like those eastern androgynous Buddhists. Jilted John said he wanted to get a photo, I said don't risk it, as soon as he raised his mobile phone we were surrounded by plain clothes police with pistols to our heads. I managed to talk our way of it.
But next thing I know, Oliver Reed, who was watching has me in a wrestling ring demanding satisfaction from me having exposed his under cover mission.
Then I woke up. A pretty decent dream I thought.