With sleep do such dreams arrive...

I have a recurring dream. It has been playing through my mind on and off since I was about 17. In it, I am at a party, somewhere like a very trendy nightclub in London. The place is packed out with pretty young things and the sort of place I would normally shy away from at the drop of a hat. But as I arrive at the front doors, and step from the London Cab, I am excited about going in – really looking forward to it. I get glanced at a few times by people as I enter. My initial thought is that they are wondering why this fat idiot is entering such a trendy place, but then I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a mirror. I am gorgeous. Dark hair, quite fashionably long, a rugged good looking face, blue eyes and a hint of manly stubble. I am thin, not too skinny, but obviously I look after myself. My skin is well maintained and looks as though it has been good friends with a tanning studio recently. My clothes are top of the range and achingly fashionable. None of my usual “Mr Fat Bastard” stuff tonight. As I enter the main bar area of the club I realise that lots of the women are looking at me and not with their usual disdain, laughter or disgust. The evening is magical. I don’t even have to try. I don’t have to be stunningly witty, or original. Not for one instance do I have to even give the hint of being intelligent or charming. I just stand there. I am even openly rude and crude in front of these beautiful young ladies who keep coming up to me and talking to me. But they love it – literally lapping it up and just keep coming back for more. I eventually leave with a particularly stunning brunette with a figure to die for, but before I can get anywhere with her… I wake up. For one moment I believe it is real and I am instantly hyped up on the euphoria of it all. Then the crushing hammer blow of reality is delivered and I see myself in the mirror. A fat, balding tosser. With a beard. Beat that, Frankenstein.