Dreams

I have been having lots of strange dreams on this road trip, and I cannot say why.  What I can say is that Bristol's vinyl scene is alive and well thanks to an innumerable quantity of charity and second-hand spots, and, the pick of the bunch so far, Rise.

I asked Plat Du Jour's personnel what their dream was (I didn't):

Me/Myself/I: "A device that would help me understand the language of animals and plants, but not fish."

Doddington:  "I dream of a trained lemur in hip trainers capable of cleaning a kitchen and also tactful translations with club owners and artists alike."

C-Shell: "My dream involves my own stylish boat with wi-fi that could be used on a bi-weekly basis to fetch in molluscs and crustaceans for feasts; also, a Pullitzer or equivalent presented by Bill Bryson in recognition for my writing. Wooop woooop!"

K**O: "A time machine, some jet boots and perhaps un poco mas melanin."

Ominous Kizzaw: "My dream is this: a gigantine budget to produce the world's most memorable non-fiction feature, about either Boca Juniors or the as-yet-uninvented crossover of skwee and booty house which would be based in Malaysia."

What's your dream?