So Peter and myself are chillaxing in front of MTV’s greatest awesome guitar legend heroes of ever with the biggest penises (or something). My first observation would be that none of the artistes I have seen are pushing my guitar hero buttons. BUT more importantly, has anyone actually looked at Zane Lowe’s face? Because I can’t tell if he is actually a person, or a novelty glasses, nose and moustache with a body attatched….

It’s true! I have indeed joined the forces of skeatermedia and gained a title all in one day – Lady Skeater has a nice ring to it don’t you think?

I’d like to start my blog by flattering Peter by imitating him and writing about a dream. Normally my dreams are fairly minimalist, perhaps me floating about the luggage conveyor belts at heathrow airport in an inflatable liferaft or perhaps having afternoon tea with a porcupine. However, last night’s dream was actually fairly eventful, much to my bemusement. I think my subconscious was going ‘You have an important blog entry to write tomorrow, I’d better make a bit of an effort…’

Unfortunately when I think of my subconscious now it’ll always resemble a lazy fat man.

But, to business! My dream went a little like this:

I was driving along in a mini as my parents needed a lift to a grandparents convention. However, I was mostly grumpy because they couldn’t drive themselves and my dad was doing his driving instructor bit and telling me off for being in the wrong gear. Because of this I decided to wind him up and I started tailgating the car in front, just as we drove onto the severn bridge.

Unfortunately it turns out you shouldn’t tailgate other cars, at least in your dreams, because the other car braked suddenly and I crunched into them. Unfortunately, this crumpled the front of the car like a concertina, along with my leg which looked much like an accordion when I stepped out of the car. This was a very serious issue as it turned out I was actually desperately needed to give a speech at the grandparents convention! So my dad started to twist my leg round and round, which is the obvious way to fix broken legs and also had the convenient side effect of teleporting us straight to the convention. 

But when I stepped into the auditorium to give my speech, it was full of my old classmates from school, who were laughing and chatting too loudly to hear my speech. This would not do! My speech wasn’t being listened to, and the future of lions (I don’t know what happened to grandparents, it was definitely save the lions now…) depended on it! Luckily my A-level English teacher came to help me quieten them down and convince them we needed to go on a covert mission to release Elsa, the lion from Born Free, who’d been kidnapped by some strange men who looked oddly like Charlie Chaplin.

So we all ran out of the auditorium when these men were driving past in big black taxis, and we jumped underneath and held onto the undercarriage (is it the undercarriage? all the bits under the car…?) whilst they drove to the swimming pool where Elsa was being held.

We then climbed a hill to get out of the car park and we all lined up on our tummies at the top so we couldn’t be spotted. We could see her through our binoculars swimming around in the pool whilst other lions were being pushed around on the roll cages from Tesco…

Unfortunately at this point Issy farted and woke me up…so I’ll never know what happened to Elsa! Or perhaps my subconsious had opened another packet of crisps and decided he’d had enough for one night and couldn’t deal with inventing an ending for the story?Who knows… At least I escaped the grandparents convention…

Is it working?