Flicking through a comic book in a store in Maryland years ago I remember one strip very vividly.
It ended with a simple message “No-one gives a fuck about your dreams.”
But after a conversation with my boss that went better than expected I’ve decided to write about two of my recent dreams.
She actually told me to plot out what I want to achieve in five years time and then assess how to get there but that’s for another day.
This time I’m appealing to any psychoanalysts out there to tell me what these dreams mean.
I, like some people but probably not most people, spend a lot of time wondering what Allegra Stratton will do next.
As discussed in a recent episode of Fiskal Policy, someone should have resigned for what happened in Downing Street but it shouldn’t have been here.
Anyhoo, the other night I dreamt I was walking past a house and there were a lot of police officers outside and an old couple walked out of the front door as I approached.
The coppers let me in after the woman inside recognised me as “Robert from the papers” and I went in to find Allegra sitting at a big country kitchen style table.
We sat for what seemed like hours and talked through her plan for the future.
She proudly announced “Book tour” and explained it would be going right from the uppermost tip of Scotland down to the bottom of England – a route she said she had never done before.
After her emotional speech outside her house back in December it was good to see her happy again.
She gave me an exclusive look at a couple of the pages from the book and in the dream I took a photo of one of the paragraphs and sent it to a friend WhatsApp group because it referred to “hot chatio”.
What does this mean apart from missing the days on the political beat and remembering a day in my new job where Allegra walked past and said she was a big fan of my organisation’s work?
Also in the days of my political journalism career were London’s best hot sandwiches at Luncheonette near London Bridge Station.
For a lot less than you’d think you could get a massive sandwich and a can of drink and some crisps.
But, after walking past the place in real life on Thursday night and seeing a poster for pizza in the window I was concerned about my number five sandwich, it wasn’t like that in my dream.
I dreamt I took my mum there before some kind of activity after bigging up the sandwiches for ages and it was all a bit different.
Instead of the very reasonable real life deal in the dream my sandwich meal combo cost £5.70 and they didn’t have the drink I wanted.
It’s not the kind of political analysis you would expect from such an esteemed blogger as myself (I’m joking – obvs) but let me know if you can analyse my dreams for me.
Stay safe for another week!