Last night's offering started terribly, but turns out well (if abbreviated).
First, I dreamt that the phone was ringing, but that I couldn't struggle to full consciousness quickly enough to answer it. Then the ring came again and as I was half-awake, made it to the phone in time. It was a very early morning call, the kind that can't be good, and the tone of my mother's voice on the line confirmed that. She said some like, "I don't know how to say this," and I replied, "Oh." I woke up before she could tell me, presumably, that my father had died.
Second one was better. After some muddle about visiting a town with A and some makeup or something like that, I found myself at a very small Boosh show or rather, in the hour or so leading up to it, entirely alone. I claimed a table with my coat and then headed for the bar. For some reason, Rich Fulcher was tending it and I decided to order two drinks at once (I am a practical alcoholic, even subconsciously) and while I was sorting out the cash to pay, none other than Barratt joins me at the bar to come up with a random combination of Canadian money to confuse Fulcher as much as possible. Like, he touched my hand. Then we just started chatting, very lucidly and congruously, about this and that. I asked him if he was nervous about the show, and he went, "Well, I wasn't,"