One Of Those Dreams

[poliphilo]

I woke up this morning from one of those ghastly dreams where I'm being a parson again- and I don't have the right books or the right clothes or any information about what I'm supposed to be doing. In this instance I was meant to be conducting a funeral and I turned up late- to a venue that looked a lot like Manchester's Piccadilly station- wearing a surplice with union jacks all over it, not knowing the name of the deceased but having been told I should steer clear of mentioning Uncle Frederick. Of course I didn't recognise the opening hymn, but this hardly mattered because the congregation were charismatics and immediately started rolling about on the floor...