The One With Charlie Sheen and Snoop Dogg

So, yeah, it's been a while. Give me a break, I was in the Arctic.

Which was epic, by the way. I took photos. They look like this:

 

And like this:

And also a bit like this:

So, yeah, that was good. And cold.

While I was there I only really remember one dream I had and that was wet-shaving a terrified Justin Long with a Stanley knife blade. 

However, I've been back a day or two now, time for a dream to pop into my head. And since it's very odd, I'll relate but one scene:

Snoop Dogg, Charlie Sheen and myself were on a moon mission driving Nasa's most recent attempt at a moon vehicle. Which looks like this:

And, to cut a long story short, they were both blazing up and not giving a damn that we were on the moon. As we bounced along at low g and flung up moondust from our 12 wheels, Charlie kept getting bong water on the controls and Snoop's continual attempts to open a window and "let some air in" were becoming un-nerving. Luckily the windows didn't actually open, but the double doors did, and given that he was lounging on the bed right next to them, I couldn't just relax and enjoy the ride...

So, yeah, that's my dream for today.

The One Where Lewis Nearly Crashes A Bus...

I wished they'd hurry up.

Lewis, Martin, I and the rest of the coach full of people were in a hurry to get to something (cycling-related, probably, given the company) and this *joker* of a driver was taking his sweet time during the driver change-over.

 As a bit of a laugh the outgoing coach driver (Who looked in ALL ways like a coach driver, that is to say that he was bald, portly, wearing a huge white shirt and dark pressed trousers and probably about 50.) had left the steering locked all the way to the right and first gear engaged. As the behemoth engine ticked over, the coach was slowly rumbling 'round so that, if the new driver hurried, he'd get to us just as we completed a 180 and were pointed the right way to leave the rest-stop and get back on the motorway.

We were now on a third rotation. The back wheels had hardly moved and neither had our new driver, who, apart from having slightly more hair, could have been a clone of the old one. Realising that stopping the coach with it pointing outward might make a bit of a statement to the jolly, jabbering, drivers. I plonked myself down in the driver's seat, surveilled the myriad pedals on stalks (like tractor pedals, see below), picked one, turned to Lewis and said "Clutch?"

"Probably" - Replied he and I depressed it just as we hit 180 degrees. The engine pitch changed and the wheels stopped crawling over the tarmac.

The drivers looked up from their brews which, somehow, they'd used their northern powers to magic out of nothing. And then looked back down and continued talking.

"Right" - Says I. And threw the coach back into first, spun the wheel back to central and started to crawl away to the slip-road, hoping this would outrage the new driver into some sort of action. I was, of course, bluffing. And that git of a driver called it. He looked over, waved his arm in a way that clearly said: "Go on, then. I dare you.". I knocked it back into neutral and put on the handbrake, dejected.

But, as I walked back to my seat, defeated and annoyed, I was lurched suddenly off my feet. Silently, Lewis had dropped into the cavernous drivers seat and we had all taken off down the slip road like a rocket. 1st, 3rd, 5th - He wasn't hanging about.

The Rumbling V12 (14? 16? Don't know, just going by sound and size of vehicle) engine sounded like a Volvo Penta being attacked by a monster made of treacle and blew black smoke like a dragon.

 Indicating, according to dream-Lewis (possibly real-Lewis as well, I'll ask him) is something that should be done when one is NOT driving a MASSIVE Green double decker coach. We joined the highway and cars moved out of our way. Rolling from lane to lane we destroyed the miles between the rest-stop and our turn off.

When the time came, Lewis left it as late as he could, before swerving violently to the left and flicking the wheel to the right. With all four wheels (probably, I wasn't counting) screaming, the bus drifted sideways towards the end of the turn-off and the beginning of the metal barrier. Lewis had a calculating look in his eyes and, after grinding the bus along the metal barrier like a skate-board on a rail, he gunned the monstrous engine once more and we took off up the exit slip.

But this bus-driving-wünderkind wasn't done yet. Using the incline of the exit slip to aid him, he shifted down into fourth (possibly third, I wasn't watching, but the noise changed a lot) and pushed his foot to the floor, launching the gargantuan vehicle into a wheelie, which he sustained until stopped by the lights at the top of the long exit slip road, when gravity took back over and the front wheels slammed back down.

At which point I had a short bit of a dream about being aboard a Klingon bird-of-prey, but I'm not sure it was connected, and if it was, I have no idea how.