It's been a while, but I'm dreaming again...

This is going to do wonders for the people who believe that eating too much cheese in the evening is a cause of weird dreams... Last night we had a couple of Philippa's friends over for a Bank Holiday mini-BBQ, and they brought a rather splendid selection of olives and cheeses, which we sat outside eating as the sun set. Very Mediterranean....
And then, overnight, this happened in my head:
It was Christmas Day, but it was hot. I was working in my office, but that office (despite being identical to my actual office as it is at the moment) was situated on top of what I'm pretty sure was the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. We were expecting a coachload of Japanese tourists, and I know they were Japanese because it was pointed out to me by my boss (who in this dream was a bearded biker from Canada called 'Spike') that I had forgotten to book a translator and that none of them would have a clue what was happening. We also realised that we had 80 people arriving on the coach, but only 14 beds available anywhere on the caravan site. To my credit, I had filled the kitchen fridges with lots of sushi; but then it was mentioned that what they had asked for was a constant diet of burgers and fries, as they were all on their first trips abroad and really wanted to soak themselves in Western culture and cuisine. I spent several hours calling various suppliers, all of whom reported to me that there was an unexpected glut of potatoes and cow meat, 'probably due to the extra Bank Holiday'. Trying not to descend into panic, I went online in my office, only to find that our entire computer system was infected with some virus, that apparently had already spread to the bar staff, meaning it was probably the first ever software virus to make the leap into humans, but also meaning that we were woefully understaffed. Then smoke started pouring out of the back of my laptop, and I did the sensible thing and dropped it into a fishtank even though it was still plugged in, and then I realised that it wasn't smoking anyway, it had just become very foggy everywhere, including indoors.
Then it turned out that 'Spike' was actually Father Christmas, and this was all a huge test to check whether I was worthy of being appointed 'Chief Elf in Charge of Toy Production' at the North Pole, and I had failed miserably. The dream ended with me being pushed out of the office, armed with only a carrier bag full of sachets of Splenda sweetener, and then having the door slammed in my face.
Thank you, brie.

RC 30-5-23