Last night I dreamt that I went to a seminar given by Bob Dylan. It was fairly sparsely attended and consisted of two parts. In the first part Bob signed autographs and in the second part he showed us how to peel the shells from some sort of crayfish (we were each given a bucket of live, writhing, prawny-maggoty things). I was the last in the queue for autographs, and when my turn came Bob took a large, brown hardback book from me and wrote out a complicated algebraic equation on the cover, using a fountain pen. He signed ‘B Dylan’ at the bottom. In ‘real life’ Bob looked younger, smoother and more translucent than he does on television, and I mentioned this to him. “Well, uh huh,” he replied mysteriously, and went to fetch his bucket of crayfish. I forget what happened next.
I have also forgotten many of the pieces of wisdom and advice that were given to me in my childhood. However, one thing I can remember from the first Adrian Mole book was that Adrian’s mother cruelly says to him something like: “Please don’t tell me your dreams. The only thing more tedious than listening to people’s dreams is listening to their problems.”
Terrible really, innit.