One's dreams are OK as a subject for blogging, if used sparingly. There's nothing worse than a blogger going on and on about his dreams week after week. Like we're really interested that he met Arthur Brown in his DREAMS?
Put a sock in it, you wanker.
But every now and then a dream needs to be exorcised on the web. Keep fit and all that.
Quite often I dream that I'm a murderer and that the body is under the patio, but nobody else knows that I'm a murderer or that anybody is missing. It may be true that I've committed such a terrible act, but I can't for the life of me think who I may have done in. My memory isn't what it was so if anybody can help me out I will be most grateful.
Last night I had a dream which suggested to me that the crime I may have committed was not wholly my responsibility and that my murderous ways are indeed inherited.
My grandad was sitting there, alive and awake, asking me if I could investigate our family tree as he believed that his uncle's grandfather had been a murderer. Of course he gave me little to go on, and all I could say to my grandad was that I'd seen his own name on the 1908 census.
"I know who I am, Geoffrey. I want to know about my uncle's grandad."
What do you think? Is it worth joining Genes Reunited and risk finding out I'm related to Dr Crippen or Dr Shipman? Although I doubt that anybody from my gene pool would have had the intelligence to qualify as a doctor.
But you never know.