California Dreaming

The other night I woke up in a lather. Like all people woke, you might joke, but this was serious. A terrible bowel churning nightmare, in which I was strapped to a chair and forced to watch a continuum of horrifying images (like the bloke in Clockwork Orange). There was death and starvation, hedious facial deformities, tortured animals, fat men on thin brittle legs, radical surgery scars, bottomless pits of money, and worst of all a gang of gigantic armpits charging the defenceless observer. Gosh it was horrid and no intermission for ice-creams either. The X-rated film was called....

THE ADVERTS!!

I went downstairs and relaxed in front of an old predictable war film. You know, those where we still did our own fighting and always won.

The next night was a lot better. My dream was set in the near future and concerned Formula One motor racing.

All combustion engines had been banned to save the planet and statistics had been successfully manipulated to convince eight billion donkeys that it had worked.

"Hoorah!"

Formula One was now all electric. This week's race was set amongst the low hills of expended batteries in a desperate-for-money overdeveloped country. The cars were very fast, but sounded like hairdryers. The crowd was thin and silent (probably Japanese robots), the only excitement being in the pits.

Here a row of team principals sat operating their cars with remote controls, suspiciously like the hand sets of old Scalextric models. A close up of the drivers themselves revealed them to be plastic facsimiles of ancient world champions.

One figure had obviously been broken in a crash and had been temporarily replaced with a man in a trilby hat smoking a pipe.

The future opened like a glorious kaleidoscope!