Another day, another supermarket checkout queue. My local vendor has just had a refit, and in the name of progress has installed a number of those hateful automatic tills, so the shop can save money on staff wages. Strange thing is though they've had to keep people on the payroll to show us ordinary members of the public how these machines work.

Every time I go there now a smiling happy shop assistant asks me if I want to try their gleaming new robots. I'm afraid to say their smile doesn't last too long. Neither did mine as it happens. As I was leaving a mocking voice cried out "All he does is daydream".

I should know better than to be worried by mocking voices. Heaven knows I've heard a few in my time. Sometimes though, it happens in a place you've become accustomed to, and thus it becomes an intrusion into your safe little world. Of course I daydream. That's because I have a brain that still works. Unlike the moron whose only thrill in life is to disparage others.

I remember a warehouse I used to work in, some years ago. Occaisionally people asked what I used to do before and inevitably the conversation got around to my time in the music business. To some extent I played the rock star, but in all honesty it was all tongue in cheek. Nonetheless, the more vocal of the workplace didn't like the idea that I was more famous than they were. That I'd actually done stuff in the past. That I wasn't observing the pecking order they'd established.

So began a few years of scorn and disparagement. A few of my colleagues listened to my reminisences politely but the majority sided with the Big Mouths and treated my presence with almost contempt at times. It so happened one year the a charity 'Red Nose Day' would see a bunch of managers get together to form a band that would play a gig in the warehouse. Since their original choice of drummer was a guy whose musical ability was even less than his management skills, they decided to invite me in on the basis of the reputation I'd made for myself.

It was all supposed to be a secret but inevitably someone found out. Some of the Big Mouths derided what I was doing - before they'd even heard it - whilst another was goading me to show off and thus invite even more derision. No. I'll stay quiet for now. You'll see when the time comes.

Even with all the rumours of a band playing in the warehouse for Red Nose Day, when my fellow workers spotted me building the stage on the despatch floor I could sense that some were genuinely bewildered and gossip was spreading.

The gig was a success. Not a long set - we were on stage for something like forty minutes and repeated one song as an encore - but that probably wasn't a bad thing. In keeping with their skills as managers, the performance as a band was a little shambolic. The best part was the silence the day after. A few congratulated me. Most congratulated the singer, whose unexpected ability behind the microphone impressed many of the staff. But the scorn had finished. There was a warehouse full of people who were embarrased to discover they'd been misled. And the quietest of all were the Big Mouths.

What Daydreams Are Made Of

Why the reminisences? Well, after the opinion expressed in the supermarket as I was leaving I could hardly be blamed for pointing out that more than once I've turned dreams into something a ittle more real, however modest or shortlived the result. GH, one of my colleagues at another workplace, once made a subtle suggestion that I should give up my ambitions. "You can always dream" He said, in an attempt to get me to settle for less than I wanted to be. I told him that unless there was a possibility the dream could happen, the dream would die anyway. And in any case, dreams happen for real if you make them happen. He didn't like that answer. It meant I still had ambitions beyond his control. It isn't always possible of course. Time and again I've heard celebrities telling the public that they should always chase their dreams. Since they happen to be among the minority whose dreams have become reality, they're bound to say things like that.

Last night I was feeling a little fed up. Go on, Caldrail, treat yourself. So I thought I'd pop across the road for a bigger and better burger than my usual cheeseless wonders. Once I stepped inside a random group of unhappy kebab buyers quickly got around to discussing our bitter defeat in the World Cup at the hands of Germany. It only took one comment to start the conversation. Losing 4-1 to our european rivals was definitely a Dunkirk moment. I look forward to our team thrashing their backsides in Berlin by 2015. But I digress.

On the counter was a CD. Being my usual curious self I picked it up for a quick inspection and immediately provoked a response. Last one left. Only seven pounds if I want it. It turns out that the chap I was talking to was a music promoter. How about that? It looks as if my astrological predictions are coming true after all. Just when you finally admit they're all talking rubbish, something happens. Funny that. A door to success or another blind alley? An opportunity or another daydream? Let's find out.