Strange dreams...

People say you dream just before you wake up, but it always seems as if the dream has been going on throughout the night. I would say we'll never know, but we do because the boffins in white coats have been conducting tests.

Anyway, last night (or first thing this morning before I woke up) I had a strange dream and as with all strange dreams (well, not all of them) I remember it. Or bits of it. I'm sure there was more, but all I can remember are two elements of it. First was a hotel room bed, white sheets. In fact it was, I think, two hotel room beds pushed together: a double and a single. For some reason there were room keys relating not to the room, but the beds – or rather the spaces the beds made up – were numbered, but not visibly, there weren't any numbers on the beds. I had a key for the single bed – or perhaps it wasn't a single bed, it might have been one big bed that could accommodate three people. I had key 102. Then, the other two bed spaces required keys 111 and 112. That was one element of the dream. I vaguely recall a very brief outdoor scene, possibly outside the hotel, the grounds. An overcast day, very dark, but daylight. Lawns and damp, mossy concrete.

The second part of the dream was even stranger. Again, a bed, this time a double, and, as with the beds pushed together, white sheets. But next to the bed, right next to bed's left hand side (if you were standing at the foot of the bed) there were two white Formica cubicles, the sort of thing you might find in an office bathroom. The cubicles were worryingly narrow, one more so than the other. Potential occupants would need to enter sideways and if you were really fat you'd stand no chance. Inside the narrowest cubicle furthest away from the bed was a woman with a baby, this much I knew, but she wasn't happy and I was concerned about her. At times, the silence from the cubicle worried me.

Strange dream the result of Supersonic documentary...

Vague memories of strange dreams last night. An old work colleague, the late, great, Brian Cookman, needed a bassist for his band and would I be interested? I told him I couldn't play the bass. The band in question only played six gigs a year, but even six would be a bridge too far for yours truly. Last night I'd been watching Supersonic, a documentary about Oasis, and there was a moment when Guigsy pulled out with nervous exhaustion. I'm assuming that's why I had this dream, although there was more to it and can't remember the details.

Oasis – great band...

The Oasis documentary was fantastic. I'd seen it before, but it's one of those programmes I could watch on continuous loop. I love proper bands that come up the hard way and make it big and that was Oasis. You can't beat Liam Gallagher as a front man and the songs were good too, shame they split up. My favourite Oasis track is Acquiesce, but they're all good. Avid readers will know that I've just finished reading Unknown Pleasures by Peter Hook, bassist with Joy Division and later New Order. Joy Division came up the hard way, but like Oasis they were a bunch of blokes who enjoyed a drink (or two) and were dedicated to the music.

At the end of the Supersonic documentary, Oasis is on stage at Knebworth and Noel Gallagher comments that it was pre-Internet (just) and probably the last time that the world will make a big fuss about a band. Now there's all the boring stuff: the X Factor, digital downloads, rubbish music.

Four paragraphs in and I still can't remember the rest of the dream. It'll come back during the day.

Sunday morning and, so far, all is well...

It's now Sunday morning and yesterday's frustrations are behind me as another day dawns. Last night I had some weird dreams, one of which involved walking naked with a woman up a steep concrete alleyway in nearby Purley. Half way up, for some inexplicable reason, I found a discarded bright red towel, which I used to cover myself, and then proceeded to walk up the hill. The dream also involved the Duke of Edinburgh who, for some reason, I knew. I recall the round tables of a formal occasion and many people – men in dinner suits, women in posh frocks – as I made my way to some kind of shrine, only to find two cakes, one chocolate, the other coffee and walnut. The former was fine, but not my favourite. The latter, my favourite, was spoilt in some way, it was too gooey, as if it had melted.

When I woke up, the news was on, but I can't for the life of me remember any of the stories, although, as I gradually regained full consciousness, I found I was listening to Radio Four's Something Understood, which this week was all about poverty and the 'scandalous inequality' that exists in Great Britain today. There wasn't time to lie-in so I got up and peered out of the window: dry and still and no sign of any frost. Last night, prior to falling asleep, I listened to the wind and the noise of the foxes on the back lawn – they make a strange, squeaky sound – and then, after catching the noise of a few slamming car doors, I made up some kind of scenario in my head about how I'd engage burglars in conversation; it went something along the lines of "there's nothing worth nicking here, mate."

Now I'm downstairs in the living room, on the laptop. I've got the harsh light on over the dining table and I'm sitting here writing having eaten two Weetabix. I'm hoping that when I go to the garage in about 15 minutes, that my two bicycle tyres will be fully inflated. Let's see.