Weird dream

Maybe my brain was still buzzing from creative writing last night, but I had a strange dream, one that I can actually remember and deosn't involve me thinking I'm an L-shaped room. I was in Beverley, listening to Corrections author Jonathan Franzen. But gone were his slightly preppy slacks and his bookish demeanour. Instead he was reading extracts from David Beckham: The Biography while dressed in motorcycle leathers. i remember thinking how cool he was. And when he came to the end of the chapter, a curtain lifted and I realised he was being backed by the James Taylor Quartet, a band I neither care for nor would help fix a puncture for, even if they were on the way to a prestige gig. The Taylor quartet launched into some tuneful acid-jazz fandango, and the crowd of Beverley liked it. It was quite a scene, I remember my slightly discombulated dream-like state thinking. What can it all mean?
Earlier, in Creative Writing class, we all have to write a What If? premise and chuck it in the hat, pull out another slip randomly and then write a story around it. Typically, I pulled out the What If written by Rachel, fast becoming my nemesis and clearly a hater of men. What If Women Ruled The World And Men Were Their Subjects?, she asks, in a kind of "is Hull still trapped in the 1970s way". I, typically, decide to write my short through the eyes of Russ Meyer, imprisoned by a bunch of harridans led by Britt Ekland and Anne Widdecombe (not my take, I hasten to add, Cindra-Jo). Rachel spent the rest of class making daggers at me.
College incidentals: Elizabeth's What If? still managed to revert back to her mother's knickers! Christine on the course used to be married to the bass player of Steeleye Span, who wrote All Around My Hat!
Listening: Reverend And The Makers