In the dream, I'm walking with Chris. We're dressed in full ninja regalia and we're trying to get into the Radiohead / Beethoven concert. It's in the big circus tent and for some reason the only US appearance is Punxatawnee.

We use our grappling hooks to scale to the top and repel down into the center of the stage. Johnny Greenwood gives me a high five and offers me a drink. Then, suddenly, I'm in a room alone with Thom. He says he respects me as a musician.

I look down. I'm wearing a tuxedo, replete with waiter tails.

Tom says "Listen 'ere, I'll pay you an' your wacky mate 100,000 pounds a year to just listen to whatever we send you and email us your opinions about it. If not, you can sod off."

I agree.

I'm back at the dojo. I'm training my ninja clan with Radiohead's cover of "Sunday Bloody Sunday" in the background.

My second in command is the guy from Red House Painters.

I wake up.

I'm not even a ninja.