Last night I had a dream that after an emergency meeting of a knitting club (I don't belong to a knitting club) it was decided to bury the club records in Hardup Hester's garden. I have absolutely no idea where that lot came from, or why knitting club records would be such a state secret.
I am not sure if my oddest dream was when I dreamt of three headless bishops knocking on the door to come and exorcise John Barrowman or the shark infested sweetcorn, but while I do know that my dreams, however odd to me, are not that unusual.
Besides, the world is far odder. Last night I was watching a documentary and the scientist told the camera in a very matter of fact way that he had been studying the feather development in some mutant chickens and had noticed something odd. No, really! Mutant chickens? something odd? Well, I would never expect to hear those two phrases in the same sentence - what?!
The world is a very odd place.
1 comment:
Lol, Sybil, I don't think my garden is big enough to bury anything in, but you are welcome to try.
Post a Comment