Did you ever have a dream that was so great, you not only woke up annoyed that it wasn’t finished, but sincerely hoped you could pick it up where you left off the following night? And did you then rack your brain trying to remember exactly what made it so great, only to find that it kept draining down the plughole of your memory? Well that was me this morning.
When I say “morning”, it was when I normally get up for work – at a time which, I gather, most people still refer to as “night”. But, for what seemed like the previous few hours, I had been paying a visit to someone whom I knew to be the only human being living on Venus. I didn’t know him personally, I don’t know why I got to go and visit him, and I can’t really remember why I wanted to (I’m pretending it was a journalistic assignment but it was probably curiosity/nosiness), but there I was, anyway.
Venus, I can report, was very dark and scary – hellish, in fact.
