Sunday, 19 February 2012

In a pickle

Once again my long suffering wife has had to restrain me whilst I slept for her own safety.
The reason for this, I was dreaming that I was some pickle in a jar. Not sure but as I was brown with chunks, I'm guessing I was a Branston pickle.
I was stuck in the jar and desperately wanted out but despite all my best efforts I just couldn't escape my glass enclosure.
My frantic shouting alerted my ever vigilant spouse to some imminent arm waving and I was duly held down and awoken to the words, 'what are you doing?'

I fell back to sleep to a very relaxing time in contrast.
My long departed dad had returned home to see me, we strolled together along a golden sandy beach.
As we walked my dad was calm and comforting telling me that everything was going to be ok.
I hate pickle, more of a relish kind of guy.
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