Arse

I phoned my lovely Mum earlier as it's been too long since I last spoke to her. She's not too well, which is a worry, and sounded very low which is not like her. We cheered each other up though, which is what Mums and eldest (and favourite*) daughters are for.

It doesn't help that she's worried sick about my (soon to be ex) brother-in-law's increasingly unpleasant behaviour.

Aah, families.

I used to have horrible dreams years ago when Middle Sis was in the police in Brighton. She was attacked a few times in the course of her duties; I can still remember the sick feeling I got whenever Brighton was on the news....what's happened? Is she involved? Is she alright?

Anyway. After one of these attacks, I began having a recurring dream where I would go to the house of the man who attacked her (not that I ever knew who it was), and shoot him in the belly with a 12-bore, much in the stylee of Val Kilmer's Doc Holliday, walking away and leaving him dying in the doorway.

He always wore a grubby vest. No idea why.

The bloke, not Val Kilmer.

In my defence, I would then drive to Brighton nick and hand myself and the gun in. Law-abiding, even in sleep.

Well, apart from murdering people.

This was almost 20 years ago and I still remember the dream. It's scary when you realise how much goes on in your head when you're asleep.

On a more cheerful note, I have emailed my presentation to my boss. Hopefully he'll be pleased.

*in my head