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.