Other people’s night-time dreams are boring to hear about. I’ve never made any secret of my disinterest in them. No doubt they are fascinating to the person experiencing them. It’s the post-dream public post-mortem on the meaning and interpretation that is the issue for me. Analysing dreams is about as useful an exercise, as asking how long is a piece of string. It depends on the context, the person involved and their situation. Perhaps it’s just brain hormones.

Who knows? Who cares? I certainly don’t. When people bounce up to declare ‘You’ll never believe what I dreamed about last night’, my eyes glaze over. I get an overwhelming urge to start shrieking ‘Kumbaya’ and  I make my excuses and leave.

With all this in mind – please feel free not to read the rest of this post.

Last night I had a dream, of the most bizarre kind. I am still slightly traumatised at the recollection of it.

I took my blood sugar before bedtime as I always do. This is a requirement for a Type 1 diabetic – purely to ensure that I don’t wake up dead.

If the sugar level is too low I’ll have a pre bedtime snack. If it is too high I will take a few units of Novorapid – the fast acting insulin. It’s all about balance (which cunningly was the name of the monthly diabetic magazine, during my youth).

Last night I went to bed feeling all nicely balanced.

I woke in a wild panic at 4am feeling wretched, bothered and bewildered. I was sweating profusely; I was slightly delirious – being in a state of low blood sugar. Luckily I am one of those diabetics whose body has a warning system, and I wake up if my sugar drops too far. Others are not quite as blessed.

Having a hypo is an upsetting and discombobulating experience at the best of times – the sense that you are barely clinging on to any type of control. A lack of power over your own body

Last night’s hypo was exacerbated by the dream I’d been having. Granted the dream was a direct consequence of the low blood sugar, but when experiencing this it’s hard to join the dots and to make the connections. Your brain feels like it is unravelling in a sense – which is why speed is of the essence in dealing with a hypo – you need to treat it before you become incapable of doing so. Because of my condition I was only vaguely aware that I was in a state of hypo. Despite this being the prime urgency that needed addressing, my reactions were slow. I just lay there panicking for a while.

The dream was a strange and terrifying scenario in which I was having a steamy affair with one half of a couple that I slightly know. The female half of said couple. The exact details of this affair are hard to remember – as is so often the case with dream. But it was beyond question that this woman and I were involved in a torrid romance, unbeknownst to her other half.

I don’t know the couple very well – in fact they are barely acquaintances. Rest assured I will never be telling them this tale of woe.

My anxiety stemmed from the fact that he was going to find out, and that I’d be discovered by the world as a serial love cheat. Not only a serial love cheat. But a heterosexual one. The horror I felt at this surprised me slightly. You’ll occasionally hear about a late in life homosexual, and people generally try to be supportive and understanding. But a late in life straight?  I’d never be able to look my gay friends in the eye again.

I tumbled out of the bed and I stumbled to the kitchen. I didn’t follow Dolly Parton’s advice this time however. Instead of a cup of ambition, I poured myself a glass of orange juice. I gulped it down.  Inhaling two Digestive biscuits to finish this mid night feast off, I staggered back to bed.

The panic had subsided. Peace was restored in my world. My position was secure. I was not a middle aged heterosexual man. Equilibrium had reasserted itself.

I wonder what it all MEANS though?