I've had lucid dreams two nights in a row now, and this one involves you good people.

Mrs Judge and I were in That There Fancy London, seeing Clem Snide. After the gig, I dragged my good lady along to the DiS-owned pub which was a couple of tube stops away. It was a bit Slaughtered Lamb, but at the same time a bit more welcoming. It was packed, I think because football was on. I'm not sure exactly who was there, but the place cleared out when the football finished.

As the place was pretty much empty, I decided to buy a round. Someone wanted a pint of something stupid (Old Peculiars Brown And Rubbish, or something) at which point the middle-aged woman behind the bar started whinging at me because she had to go down the other end of the bar for that. I told her to stick her drink and Mrs Judge and I left, cursing the place as we left.

And that was that. And no, I've not been eating cheese before going to bed