8.48am receive text message from my girlfriend:
Hello. I dreamt about you this morning.x
8.49am send text message to my girlfriend:
Ha ha. Funny you should mention dreams. Read my blog.x
At 8.59am I call my girlfriend, and contradicting everything I said earlier, there's a question I'm itching to ask, “So what did you dream about me?”
“I’m not telling you. You don’t like hearing about other people’s dreams.”
“I know, I know, but I’m asking.”
"No, you're not interested."
"Please tell me."
“Oh, it was nothing, you weren’t very well and you had to have an operation on your penis.”
This is exactly what I mean; dreams are just brain poo. Complete and utter brain poo. And she's not even on prednisolone.