I am ill. I am definitely coming down with something, I just have no idea what yet.
Last night, as I tossed and turned and tried to get comfortable (too hot with the blankies on, too cold with them off - you know how it goes), I slipped into a feverish sleep and dreamt I was making up a poem. On the spot. About barley - and the wonders of beer.
Now, I hate beer. If it had been vodka, I would have understood it better. Apparently my subconscious mind rhymes 'Charlie' with 'barley' and associates barley with beer. It was at an evening gathering/conference/meeting thingy, with dressy women in low cut tops and long manicured fingernails and spa