Wild roses

I dreampt that I ran into George Harrison. He had greying hair and a salt and pepper beard, but otherwise looked very much like the man who did the Concert for Bangladesh.
‘Hi George,’ I said, ‘you’re looking well.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, with a kind smile. I might have introduced myself or just assumed that he’d recognise me. He had a bit of a bruise below his left eye. I didn’t ask him how he got it.
’What brings Mr Harrison here?’
‘My daughter is in this play.’ At the far end of the room there were lots of small children rehearsing something. He was very relaxed, just another dad waiting on his child. Then he asked me why I was carrying this this big bunch of keys on a huge key ring.
‘These are the keys to the local jail. It’s a long story.’
It was a nice dream to wake up to.