What dreams may come - a totally pointless tale

Had a bloody weird dream last night. I think it was because I was out last night doing a talk to a men's organisation in the town ( very few `mens` organisations left, I was intrigued) I talked about how a predominantly unarmed police force deals with armed criminals. It was for a good cause - I got a donation to a charity of my choice - a very good cause would have been myself but on this occasion I chose the charity. I dreamt I was back in the job - So I suppose I should really call it a nightmare. I came home, had a Speckled Hen then finished off a 3/4's empty bottle of vin blanc. "Beer before wine, you'll be fine. Wine before beer, you'll turn queer". I started watching "Memphis Belle", such a good movie, but was too knackered to see all of the airborne action so went to bed. Anyway the dream was about me and my old mate and we were in a police station.

There I was walking in to the back yard. My mate met me at the door and showed me across the yard to a big ticket machine that had our names on it against a row of yellow buttons. He was having a good moan about it and said it was the latest idea from headquarters and that all staff now had to buy a ticket to park in the yard and for us chief inspectors it was £30 a week. I went inside and there was a meeting taking place. I recognised a few faces. My mate said there was a major incident and would I mind going into the garage to get two perspex covers so that some of the lads could use them as shelters at the place where they were running the forward control point (where this perspex crap came from I'll never....no, wait, of course, they were from the nose cone of the Memphis Belle!). I walked into the garages and there was a huge set of flimsy shelves going up into the rafters. They were full of wine glasses and bottles, all full of red wine. My mate told me that he had taken up winemaking. I tried to pull out the perspex covers and the shelves started to sway back and forth and then the bloody lot fell down, showering the floor in glass and red wine. He looked at me and said, "I suppose we'd better sweep it up". Then I woke up.

For a few moments I was lying there thinking how I missed being back in traffic division and how one year (my last) just wasn't enough and perhaps I should've stayed on for some more fun and games. Then I remembered that the only fun and games were the snatches of fun that we managed to create to take our minds of the endless bureaucratic, pointless, number counting crap that we were constantly wading through.

I'm OK now. I've had some wheatabix and my 1150GS passed its MoT yesterday. I think I fancy testing an F800. But I was drinking white wine, so why was it red in my dream? Oh no, now I'm all confused again.