I woke from a dream at about 1.00 am. I’d been sitting in the back of Terry Wogan’s car listening to him interview Yoko Ono. His steering wheel was on the left rather than the right, and I thought I must tell ‘him’ that he’d bought it in France. We were driving very slowly through a suburban district and the sun shone. Again, I remember thinking in my dream that he drove rather like my Dad.
We have a running joke about deafness, he and I. It’s mostly a way of deflecting my irritation at having to repeat myself sometime three or four times. I have a quiet voice, apparently. Anyway, as I woke the voices came in again. I told him of it at breakfast. One said: ‘Mushrooms?’ and the other replied: ‘No, Saturday.’