Not Exactly Mutiny

SOME YEARS AGO I used to suffer from a recurring nightmare. I would be dreaming of John Wayne, or the day I won the Pools, you know all those  mundane things an “ordinary housewife” (with bra) dreams about, when suddenly that dreaded thing will manifest itself and a galvanising cry of “Lee-Oh!” will sound shrill in my  ear. This leaves my husband wondering the next morning if I have had a seizure in the night, and still confused as to how he came to be on the floor with a sheet wrapped round him and a pot on his head.

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