“That’s Cheryl Ladd,” I hissed to my colleage. “…of Charlie’s Angels fame,” I added, just in case he was wondering.
My colleague couldn’t hear what I was hissing and asked me to speak up.
“That’s Cheryl Ladd out of Charlie’s Angels,” I hissed, slightly louder. “She was my heart-throb when I was younger. I used to have posters of her on my wall. I’ve even got an album of hers. It’s called Cheryl Ladd.”
My colleague didn’t seem too impressed—even when Cheryl rose to make a short speech to the press pack that had followed her into the restaurant. She was promoting the new Charlie’s Angels 2 movie.
Then I woke up.
Earlier that night, I’d had another dream in which Jen and I were on holiday in Antarctica. We’d found a nice little pub in a picturesque, snowy village that sold London Pride on gas (eugh!), and a very decent real ale. Unfortunately, the latter soon ran out, so I volunteered to catch a helicopter to Autralia to bring back some more beer.