Last night, to my surprise, I dreamt of Wembley. This, for me, is rather strange.
It began with four friends pledging their determination to meet each other there, at the very home of football, and turned into a massive advanture. We only had tickets for the Carling Cup, which has been and gone, but somehow, we were going to find a way to the FA Cup final, to watch Liverpool.
I should point out that I'm nowhere near as football mad as this suggests, but there you have it.
My adventure started with a lift into London with Steven Gerrard; always a good start when you're off to watch the club he Captains, but there was an accident on the road in, damaging his chances of playing, and leaving me stranded and lost in London.
I arrived in an arcade and was met by two people. Ricky, my best friend in real life - who can't stand football - and a cute teenage lesbian, who actually turned out to be twenty-four, and smoked.
Together, we had to slip through the back of a Chinese restaurant, which resulted in me being chased by knife wielding maniacs.
At this point I woke up, realised I didn't need to, and promptly went back to sleep, where the dream had moved on without me.
The three of us encountered two more friends of mine next: two youth workers named Brian and Jim. They were at a hotel nearby for reasons unknown, and convinced me to take up an awesome little suite for myself and my friends. It was an incredible place, rising in layers to the beds at the top.
Before my journey continued I encountered a girl I met one time at a music festival, famed for wearing custom made shorts so short you could see she wasn't wearing anything underneath. You could see everything underneath. She somehow found my hotel room, attempted to seduce me and was rebuffed.
This made me ask questions of my lesbian friend. She had apparently turned lesbian after poor relationships and men in her teens constantly demanding that she give it up, when she didn't want to. In fact, she'd never engaged in lesbianism, but used it as a cover. There was some pleasant enough kissing to follow, though she had a bit of a dry mouth.
That night would be the last at the hotel, and I watched as Miss Short Shorts went for Jim using exactly the same method as she went for me. He decided to go for it, so I slipped him a condom and went on to do my former lesbian in the bed upstairs, but still in that room.
The next day, leaving them all behind to come back to later, I walked to Wembley and, when there, let out a big cheer that caught the attention of first two, and then the third friend I had promised to meet. Curiously enough, we were all wearing Manchester City shirts.
The dream ended there, without any football taking place whatsoever.
Maybe I am football crazy.