How I escaped being shot by Nazis

I must tell you about a dream I had the night before last. It may give you an insight into my state of mind right now.

I was on my client's large estate when I discovered that it had been invaded by Nazis. Not the modern, shaven-headed ones like the BNP, but proper, WW2 ones with black and grey uniforms.

The word was that they were going to line everyone up against walls and shoot them. My client had advance warning about the invasion and had fled the country with his family before the they arrived.

As they were making plans for our execution, I formed my own plan to escape. I would go to the first check-point barrier and inform the guards that not only was I an outside contractor who happened to get caught up in events which had nothing to do with me, but that I was also English, so not eligible for being shot.

I got to the checkpoint and explained my situation to the guard. Upon hearing that I was English (as everyone else is on the estate!) he immediately allowed me through, but not before a lengthy chat about what a lovely country England was. I remember thinking that Nazis were not so bad after all.

I got out onto the public road and suddenly remembered that I had forgotten to bring the car out with me. Luckily I knew of an unguarded cross-country route to the car park, so trudged across the fields to retrieve the vehicle.

I eventually found it, surrounded by rusting farm machinery and covered in rubbish like straw and chicken-shit. As I reversed it out of the paddock, the passenger door caught on a bit of old farm equipment which tore it off its hinges.

I decided it would be too risky to go back in and fetch all my tools which were in a workshop there, so I drove across the fields without a door, risking being stopped by the police and fined. In any case, with Britain being taken over by Nazis, I would probably have no use for them again.

I had forgotten about the accident I had in it a few days before, so the front of the old Volvo was all smashed-in as well. I hoped it would take me the 15 miles back into Bath without breaking down for good, forcing me to walk.

Sometimes waking life is easier than lying in bed.