Re-telling dreams never works. Here goes.
Last night I dreamt that I was interviewing John Paul II. Turns out he did not die, instead he retired and moved to Memphis to be a charter pilot. (He only flies 4 seaters).
I spoke to him while we sat outside a hotel. The hotel had a crappy theme bar with lots of kids running around while their parents drank booze inside. He answered questions on retiring, switching the big Pope hat for his pilot goggles, and how people tend to leave him alone in Tennessee and let him get on with his life. He also thanked me for asking thoughtful questions.
I am not any of the following;
Catholic, an aviation fan, a Memphis lover (Elvis excepted), a good interviewer, a frequenter of bars with a 'children welcome' policy.
Towards the end of the chat, Meryl Streep walked out of the hotel and reminded me that when you stay in a hotel, it is best to stay on the First Floor because, "You get a room with a taller ceiling".