He was quite avuncular, actually, not at all as you'd imagine him. A bit like Mal Evans, the former Beatles roadie gunned down by LA police in the mid 70s. Biggish bloke - the sort you'd call a gentle giant. Anyway, in the dream, I went up to Scary Duck and said, "can I just say, I think you're absolutely brilliant. I wish I could say I read your blog every day, but I don't - I'd give up my own blog if I did", at which he just sort of smiled, as if that was something that people were *always* coming up to him and saying. (It's also true - I do avoid reading him because he tends to make me want to give up blogging - but that's by the bypass...) Funnily enough, he seemed to know who *I* was too - although, obviously being a dream, it's entirely plausible that he did, I suppose.
Anyway, that was about it really. I sort of gushed on about how good he was and he smiled indulgently, like Mal Evans indulging someone who was gushing about how good he was and then, just as I was about to offer to buy him a pint at the pub over the road, Scary Duck said, "now, if you'll excuse me, I have a team meeting in Watford and I'm running a little late..." and with that, he was gone into the cold night air.
* I was going to put "And then I woke up" there, but Tim tells me I'll lose my prosaic license if I keep doing that. So there you go..
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