Bad Dreams are Made of This

I am a prolific and adventurous dreamer, both sleeping and awake.  Last night I had one of my more traumatic nocturnal episodes, an energetic feature-length sci-fi thriller, involving aggressive aliens (in the guise of humans, it could be anyone, trust no-one) pursuing me through city and country all the while attempting to shoot me with specially adapted and deadly TV remote controls.  Although admittedly sounding more Benny Hill than Blair Witch, I awoke feeling rather disturbed and discombobulated.  So today working at the edge of a misty moor, I was a little perturbed to find a kitchen knife lying on the wall, blade pointing threateningly in my direction.  I asked why it was there and was told “ah yes, I meant to bring that in”.  Later I came across this gun resting on a weed filled plastic pot, lined up in my sight.  Again I queried it, “oh yes, we found it in the garden”.  Just as I was leaving the prongs of an ancient fork, long parted from its wooden handle, were raised in my direction.  I put my foot on the accelerator and sped off up the hill.  It could be anyone, trust no-one.