Last night I dreamed of Vladimir Putin. I had left my home, as usual each morning, to walk to the village shop to buy my newspaper. I remembered that our village fete was being held that day. When I returned, I found Vladimir Putin and various other people inside my bungalow. Putin was very genial and told me that since he now lived in England he would need a home for his disabled father. He believed my house was suitable. I demurred, suggesting that my bungalow is too small, but recommended that he apply to Fortis (the local housing association) who would probably be able to find a very nice flat nearby. As the neighbourhood volunteer for Citizens’ Advice, I would be able to help with the application. Putin seemed very pleased with my comments, and left with his entourage. I reflected that since this probably counted as work for Citizens’ Advice, I would need to keep this referral confidential and would not be able to tell my wife when she returned. Fortunately, it was all a dream, and I could tell her of my unique role in improving Anglo-Russian relations.
See also: Living the Dream
See also: Living the Dream
