lonemagpie

So, a bunch of us were transporting three coats for Conrad Veidt (Connie wasn't actually in the dream, by the way, we were just trying to deliver these coats to the theatre where he'd be needing them).

In Citizen Khan's car. (If you don't know that show, you're probably lucky)

From Birmingham to Bradford by way of at least one flooded spooky old house, and lots of juggling things around in rain-soaked car parks.

After which we had a message that Connie thought the show was his worst ever.

Even in my dreams I let everybody down sooner or later.

You know you've spent time with the wrong crowd when you wake up from a dream where you were writing the novel revealing that the female Dr Who companion most into anal is Leela because she's from a preindustrial society in which that's an obvious contraceptive-friendly means of shagging, in a world where pills and condoms don't exist. (which is, after all, pretty much how the whole religious anti-buggery thing got going anyway.)

This may not be unconnected to having been having to drink only coffee and booze the last couple of days cos we have run out of juice.

I'm never going to be allowed near Dr Who again, eh?

ETA- This is the sort of thing that pops unwanted into your head at random if you're a writer...

Like Dorothy Parker said, "writers and poets and such horses' necks start off from anywhere and end up at sex"