I was due to board a large jetliner, possibly a 747. I didn't know where I was going, just that I was due to be onboard. I entered the plane from the back and made my way along the fuselage noting that my seat, in row 36, was some way to go. I passed through the plane (and other passengers preparing themselves for the journey ahead) and the numbers of each seat decreased the further forward I ventured. No sign of row 36 until I noticed that the number sequence reversed itself and there was seat 36, it's back up against the wall of the fuselage. I took my seat, which faced the opposite side of the plane. Then, for some reason, I was not on the plane, but looking for it. I found it moving slowly along a suburban south London street with Victorian terraced houses on either side of the road, the wings of the plane barely missing the frontages of the houses. The big question was how to get back on board, but there were no answers to that question. I met some shadowy figures as I tried to figure out what to do, but the plane disappeared and that was the end of the dream.
We ride our trusty bicycles most weekends. This blog charts our adventures and records our thoughts as we ride through the rural lanes of Surrey and Northern Kent – and there's some world travel thrown in too
