Wednesday night I dreamt I was in the team. I didn't recognise any of my team mates or the opposition. It was a tense match. I bicycle-kicked the ball away from our penalty area. I woke up with my foot an inch from the bedroom radiator.
Last night I also dreamt I was in the team. Except my team was a rock band and we were in a battle of the bands with the Flaming Lips. I was thinking we could piss all over these jokers but Wayne Coyne threw us a googly, interrupting their set by tucking into the buffet, playing for time. They then did that song that asks me if I realise that everybody is going to die. I retaliated by putting my heart and soul into the Beatles' Yesterday, followed by a new song I'd just written. We blew the audience away.
Sorry, Liverpool. Do one. This is our year.
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