We’re sitting around a large kitchen table, as you do.

We’re chatting about the good old days of Mott [the Hoople]. Ian [Hunter] is talking about what fun it was and I’m agreeing and we’re talking about the great music they made and the great concerts they did.

The only one round the table who seems a really miserable bastard is Mick [Ralphs]. “It wasn’t that much fun”, he says.

I don’t know why he’s so miserable about it. Then, I start to wonder why I’m there at all, like I’m sitting round the table with old mates talking about “the good old days”, since I’ve never met them before now.

It just seems slightly odd. It “feels” right but my logical side says that it’s not right.

And, of course, my logical side is right.

I struggle to wake up enough to realise it’s all a dream.

I have never met these guys, even if they were my favourite group, growing up, and even if I’ve seen them a number of times. I can’t even imagine why I had this dream.

I don’t think Mick is a miserable bastard and I’m sure he wouldn’t say that, so doubly strange. And, yet, there they were, in my dream with us chatting about how good it all was like it was all quite normal and with Mick being grumpy like he was having a bad day!