I have been having a reoccurring dream that I go into the garage and discover my first car, my 1978 Triumph TR7, sitting in a forlorn, rusty heap.
So, excitedly, I go running upstairs and tell Mummy Militant that there's no need for me to be on a crusade for the next 'Gingermobile' because I've had it out in the garage all along.
Of course, it's slightly confusing that it's right-hand drive and I'll have to get it registered in New Jersey and... Didn't the engine blow up? And how come I didn't remember having it with me for the past twelve years?
And then suddenly it's 6am and I have to wake up.