ME AND DONALD TRUMP

Spouse is sporting a black eye, not because we are in imminent danger of darkening the portals of the divorce courts, neither have we taken up judo, tae kwando, kick boxing, or any kind of sport where a shiner might be in the offing. No, it was the fault of Donald Trump.

There I was in a lovely deep sleep and who should step uninvited into my slumber? You've guess it, old D.J.T. Now, I don't know if he owns a yacht, but in my dream he most certainly did. One the size of the Royal Yacht Brittania, only flashier and decked out in fairy lights; a bit tacky to tell you the truth.

How do I know this? I was there on board. No, I have no idea why, possibly something to do with some kind of commercial sale to some invited clients. Now I think about it some more, in my dream I was his daughter!!! Yes, really, how about that?!!!

So, I had successfully made this sale - perhaps I was selling them the ship - and they presented me with a jeroboam of champers. A jeroboam - that would really kick off a party. But, Daddy dear, aka Donny Babes, took it away from me and squirrelled it away into his own stores.

This was so unfair. My just reward for all my exertions on his behalf, nicked. I am a great believer for justice for all and I wasn't having any of it. I chased after D.J.T. and tried to wrestle the jeroboam from him. He wasn't having any either and wrestled back. Never mind the Queensberry rules, I dotted him one; my fist got him on the nose, slid off and smacked him good and proper in the eye.

He dropped the bottle of champers, I neatly caught it and was shouting 'yeah' and dancing around the deck. Only I wasn't. I had spouse trussed up in the sheet and sporting one helluva shiner. Needless to say, Donald Trump is not the hot topic of conversation in Chez Comb this week. Ice-cubes and raw steaks are more the order of the day.

In fairness, it is not only my spouse who suffers when my dreams get the better of me. some years ago we decided to adopt a Border Collie from our local branch of the RSPCA. We had to be checked out, so before the Inspector's visit I could be found frantically tidying up, desperate to show that we were people who were fit to be left in charge of an animal.

Now, I know what I'm going to say next is a bit of a digression, but stay with me, it just goes to show that I am not the only one who likes to make a good impression, this time it was my friend Clare and it was the Cat's Protection League. I had been helping her to re-decorate and we had just finished. So, naturally, out came the G & T's, ice and lemon. Then, blow-me-down, didn't the Cat's Protection League woman come sashaying up the garden path, clipboard in hand. My G & T was promptly whipped out of my hand and hidden in the cupboard. Obviously cats cannot be re-homed where there is Mother's Ruin.

To re-join my tale. We passed our inspection and were told we could collect the dog on 19th January - as a dog is for life and definitely not given at Christmastime. We were both really looking forward to welcoming George (the dog), to our home.

So the night before his arrival, why did I not dream about dogs? I don't know. I dreamt about pigs. I dreamt we had a huge sow and a litter of piglets at the top of our garden. So as soon as I woke up I put my slippers on and ran to the stairhead. Priscilla, (the pig) and her offspring needed to be let out for the morning. Yes, I ran to the stairs and in my excitement started running down the stairs and I tripped myself up.

I must have somersaulted mid-bounce, as my ribcage connected with every wooden stair on the way down - and it was a long way. It's a bit like falling off a horse and all the air is knocked out of your lungs. I lay at the bottom of the stairs gasping for air like a newly-landed fish.

Needless to say I had broken my ribs and when people asked me how I had done it I could not bring myself to say 'I went to let the pigs out that we did not have.' No, dear reader, naughtily I put on my best martyr look and indicated that my lips were sealed and we know what people would make of that, don't we? Poor spouse......