In my dream

Idream a lot, but I generally don’t remember my dreams. We start off with BIBA, my P38 Range Rover, at the side of the road – I don’t recognise the road. She won’t start so, of course, I have removed the engine, which is sitting in front of the vehicle, along with the front axle. Whatever was wrong with the motor I have fixed it and I am now sitting inside, turning the key and wondering why the darned thing still won’t start.

As I am sitting there Dennis Taylor pulls up in his Discovery 2 and comes over to my window. Still in the dream, I am suddenly seeing Dennis’ house where he is playing with his young grandson, William, who is driving around the house in an electric-powered Discovery toy car.

The phone rings and Dennis tells his son, and Williams’ dad, Darren, that Frank has called and needs some help with a breakdown. Darren points out that Dennis will have to go on his own because he has to stop with William. Meanwhile, my great-grandsons, Maxwell and Noah, have suddenly appeared and are also playing in electric-powered Land Rovers.

Back at the roadside Dennis points out that BIBA won’t start because the engine is no longer attached to the vehicle.

I get out and we are standing in front of the whole caboodle. Dennis suggests that if we lengthen the wiring, and the fuel lines then we might get it to start. He also asks why BIBA’S lights are on and I point out that this is because I have just bought a new battery. I show it to him, still in the boot but with cables, all coloured yellow, snaking through the vehicle to the engine, and back again to the lights.

Naturally Dennis has miles of fuel line and electrical cabling (all yellow again) in the boot of his Disco 2 – but it’s all wrapped together in a huge pile, so we sit on the pavement, untangling it.

I ask Dennis if he has moved BIBA. He looks up and sees, as I have just done, that my Rangie is now almost out of sight, down the hill (I don’t recall that we were on a hill earlier in the dream; in fact I’m sure we weren’t).

The engine is now where it should be, but BIBA is moving slowly, almost out of sight. Dennis and I walk down the hill and catch it up. We find that my motor is being winched slowly by three blokes, wearing masks and striped burglar- type sweaters. I don’t remember what vehicle they were using, but one of the thieves had a gun.

We don’t seem to be the least bit put out by all this and walk alongside BIBA as the guys turn themselves into a workshop that looks just like Halfords’ in Blackburn.

As my car, Dennis and I, and the guys (who have reappeared again), all go inside the workshop it becomes the backyard of Rawtenstall Police Station in Rossendale and we find ourselves surrounded by armed police. They’re not in the modern kit, but in ordinary uniforms, with the old-style helmets and carrying Lee Enfield 303s – like the ones in WW2 or the Irish War of Independence films.

As both Dennis and I have experience of firing LE 303s we ask one of the bobbies if we can hold a rifles. He hands one to us and we find that it is sleeved to take .22 calibre bullets, just like the ones I used to use in the ATC back in the 1960s.

The bobby then stands by while Dennis and I take turns to fire pot-shots at the radio mast that towers over the police station.

By now the robbers and police have disappeared and Dennis and I are underneath BIBA, which is now parked in the street outside the main, front entrance of the police station.

A police officer asks if we want to play with the modern machine gun he’s now got in his hands. He points out a loose wire. I fasten it somewhere and BIBA bursts into life. I am then driving towards Dennis’ house, following him, whilst my great-grandsons are in the back shouting, “go faster Grandad.”

Then I woke up, got out of bed and, at 4.30am, start to type out what you’ve just read.

“I have removed the engine, which is sitting in front of the vehicle,

with the front axle”

On the internet I read: “According to my UK MOT bay, if you have an LPG or hybrid car, it’s exempt from the emissions test. I get a reduction in tax, and the last three Mots haven’t done an emissions test.”

I replied: “Your last three testers have been pulling your leg, or you are trying to pull ours...” His reply: “I’m not an expert, I just go off what the testers tell me.” The moral? Be careful of what you read on t’internet!