A candy-coloured clown they call the sandman

Last night I was scheduled to appear on a chat show, to talk about my brother's book.

Of course, he's not my real brother you understand - he plays my brother in the TV soap opera we both act in. You know the one, it's ... ah, I forget. Probably not important anyway.

So I'm due to be interviewed on live TV, and I'm feeling completely relaxed about it, and it's only in the cab on the way to the studios that I realise I know nothing about the book I'm meant to be talking about. I've never read it, and now realise I don't even remember the title.

This only gives me a moment's pause, and I reassure myself with the thought that I'll just wing it, take my lead from the interviewer. There's nothing to worry about here. I stride through the studio, and can hear the host - sitting in a pool of bright light, the empty chair opposite him inviting me to join him - giving me a big introduction.

I settle into the chair to waves of applause. 'So,' the host says. 'What can you tell us about your "brother's" (you can hear the inverted commas, the slight chuckle in his voice) new book, then?'

'Well,' I begin, 'it's a truly remarkable read. Unputdownable. A roller-coaster of a book...' I don't get any further into my list of clichés, as I realise the author/actor has suddenly appeared from the wings, a shotgun in his hands, shouting 'you liar! You haven't read the book! In fact, there is no book!' And with that, he fires both barrels at me. As the lead shot whizzes past my cheek, I realise he's missed - and suddenly I'm part of a crowd, chasing the gunman through the streets of London.

At this point, G (from blipfoto) appears, dressed like Sherlock Holmes, joining in the general hue and cry. I've a feeling he gets shot in the shoulder ... but at that point I wake up.

It's 4:15 in the morning, and my own shoulder is painful from where I've been lying awkwardly on it.

Unusually, the dream has stayed with me since. I think I've even worked out most of what I was trying to tell myself.

Well, apart from G being Sherlock Holmes, that is.