On the interpretation of dreams

Last night, I had the strangest dream (apologies to Art & Paul). I stole a Bentley from a guy called Olly, drove it off a cliff, helped Olly recover it and then stole it again.

(a) I don’t like or aspire to Bentley-ownership (no, really: I aspire towards Mercedes ownership, that’s my poncey dream-car – specifically a 1993 SL320, in black)
(b) I don’t know or have any particular angst towards anyone called Olly
(c) The Bentley was manual transmission. I don’t think Bentley do that.

It was weird. It was very Bonnie-and-Clyde (without a Bonnie, sadly), and very high adrenaline. Weird.

[Listening to: In the Jailhouse Now – Soggy Bottom Boys – O Brother, Where Art Thou? (03:36)]