With a couple of days to go before I get married you'd expect I'd be waking up in a cold sweat as a result of any of the following nightmares:
- It's the wedding day and I'm walking down the aisle in my pyjamas / pants / birthday suit – I've forgotten my suit and everybody is laughing at me.
- My car's broken down on the way to the venue, it's torrentially raining and my mobile phone is dead – she's going to think I stood her up!
- I fall down the stairs and sprain my ankle walking to the venue. I spend the rest of the day with my foot up and ice on my ankle – not exactly ideal.
- The minister doesn't turn up / is blind drunk (might be funny) / gets into a fight with my brother / me / my girlfriend / Auntie Jane.
- Some crazy ex-girlfriend / stalker turns up at the "does anybody know any reason why this couple shouldn't wed?" bit and has my baby in her arms / screams that she loves me and I love her / gets into a fight with my brother / me / my girlfriend / Auntie Jane / the minister / all of the above.
- I walk to the venue, see a flash of lightning and suddenly I've been thrown ten years into the future. Everybody thinks I'd stood her up, she met some tanned hunk and married him instead and I'm stuck in a world where I'm completely lost and out of place.
- A gang of long-haired European, terrorists take over the castle and hold us hostage while stealing some bearer bonds from the vault.
- Someone spills red wine over my suit (that'll make sense when I upload some wedding photos after the event).
But no, none of those have forced me to wake up and think "thank God, it was only a dream!". Instead I found myself in a barbers in Dundee. It was a large, empty room with a chair in the middle which I was sitting in. It looked like a sunny day outside but my main concern was with the guy that was cutting my hair.
"Right, I just want a tidy up – whatever you do don't cut much off it" I instructed. But I could see a look in his eye so I felt I had to clarify: "I know you think it'll look great if you cut more off, but trust me I'll hate it – don't even think about it".
At this point he started laying into my fringe and that was my cue to go ballistic. I was on my feet yelling at him using every four letter word and insult I could think of. I touched my forehead and realised that my fringe was far far too high up – this just got me angrier. I was enraged!
Of course then I woke up and realised it was all a dream. I felt relieved. Then I thought "what the hell am I worrying about my hair for? I've still got to write my damned speech!". Which reminds me, I've still got to write my damned speech…