Mr FD was talking, yet again, in his sleep early this morning. First it was an “Oh God!” as though he was both surprised and beseeching, but in time it became obvious that he was fighting with someone in his dream (I moved to the edge of my side of the bed, ready to hit the bunkers) “You @#^%# !” Then just as suddenly he rolled out of bed and went to the bathroom. When he returned to the bed I asked him who won and he couldn’t remember any of it. I guess it was God 1 : Mr FD 0, again.

His altercation had woken me from my own dream. I was checking messages on my mobile phone and there was one message that contained a male voice quietly and calmly reading verses from a certain middle eastern holy text. I had visions of Cat Stevens on my message bank. Hey, it was my dream!

I told Mr FD I had received the call.

“Well, that’s a cheap way to get a message out.” he replied

“Robbo calling the fallen?” I knew where I stood on the list.

“Please hold for a message from God,” he said assuming a voice several levels lower than his own.  (Why do we always assume that the Big Whatever has a deep baritone voice, when maybe BW sounds like Jerry Lewis in his hey day?)

“Oh God (unintentional witticism) what if he had an Indian accent and I hung up on him? “ (If I suspect the voice on the end of the line is a telemarketer I usually instantly hang up. One poor gentleman once called back seven times trying to get through to Mr FD on legitimate business).

Mr FD was no longer listening, too involved in his own impersonations, “God on line one… Reverse charge call from heaven.” He was having a jolly time amusing himself.

I let him enjoy himself, it’s his birthday today and he was probably having the most fun he is going to have all day.