I had a very odd dream last night, sitting before some kind of tribunal or court being grilled on whether I’d used disproportionate force in disabling a sword wielding man. I think it must have been my hot mind processing the previous day’s visit to the war museum, reading about the sad case of schoolboy, Daniel Anjorin, murdered with a samurai sword, and a new Brad Pitt film about racing cars. It was incredibly vivid and went like this.

Having been asked to explain what happened I’d given a surprisingly coherent account considering it was a dream and explained that I’d seen what was going on outside, picked up a sledgehammer from my shed in Exeter, gone onto the street and called out to the man with the sword. 

Because he had a light weight, sharp sword, and me a heavy blunt instrument, I’d immediately discounted the idea of a sword fight, which he’d have won, and I’d positioned myself, legs apart and at an angle that enabled me to keep upright and balance any force coming my way. Then I’d lifted the sledgehammer a bit like you would a bow and arrow, the hammer end of its shaft resting in the hand of my outstretched left arm, the right hand clawed around the other end. 

Then, the leader of Exeter City Council, Phil Bialyk, interrupted me and asked me what I was thinking at the time and if I’d been drinking. I told him that I’d drunk a few cans of Mythos beer, which I had that evening, and that I’d been thinking that it wouldn’t be any use hitting him anywhere but his head, because he could carry on if I just bruised his chest or a leg etc, but hitting him in the head might knock him out. Bialyk then asked what I did next, and I told him that I’d slammed the sledgehammer into his face, and he’d dropped to the floor.

Everyone then stood up talking and there was the scratchy sound of a load of chairs being pushed back, and council security men were moving towards me as if they might be about to detain me. 

At this point Brad Pitt walked in and said that he’d take things from here, ushering me out to a Greek taxi that was waiting outside Exeter Civic Centre, which is where it all took place. He and I sat in the back and the driver, Lewis Hamilton, who’s also in the new film I mentioned, drove through the streets of Kalamata like we were in a car chase in a film, which was so terrifying that I woke up in a hot sweat.

So, was that me channelling my inner military strategist, inspired by my visit to the War Museum? In real, waking life I’d probably just have locked my front door and hidden trembling in a cupboard. Or would I? I’ve never entertained the idea of committing such a violent act but maybe we’re all capable of smashing someone’s face in with a sledgehammer if we’re about to get stabbed. Or does it only happen in dreams when nobody’s looking? 

Any qualified dream interpreters out there? I’m confused. Also, the heat’s probably getting to me – it’s midday, 38° and soon to be 41°.

I’m off to Kalamata’s Gallery of Contemporary Greek Art today. It’ll probably be better for me.