Something very strange happened to me on Saturday night.

I was walking through The Lanes with The Mother when suddenly, and without warning, a huge wave came crashing round a corner and swept me out to sea.

The water was surprisingly warm, quite comfortable really, but however hard I splashed and shouted, I couldn't seem to make myself seen or heard.

As for The Mother - she'd disappeared.

Unusually for me (well, unusual for anyone in those circumstances) I didn't panic.

Then, out of the darkness, I heard The Mother's voice: "Vanora! Wake up. You're having another bad dream."

Dream . . .? Bad dream . . .?

I surfaced to find The Mother standing at the side of my bed while I struggled to escape the grasp of the duvet, which had somehow got me by the throat and was about to pull me under again.

"It's only 4.30am and you've woken me with all your shouting," she said crossly.

"Sorry," I muttered. "I'll try and remember not to shout before 7am next time I have a nightmare."

"I blame those drugs you're taking," said The Mother.

"Drugs? I'm taking antibiotics, prescribed antibiotics, I've had the 'flu," I replied indignantly.

"Well, since you've been taking them you've become a very noisy sleeper," she said.

"Last night you woke me just after midnight. You were shouting and muttering, just like tonight.

I can't imagine who you're talking to in your sleep."

"What did I say?" I asked, feeling curious about my nocturnal conversations.

"Oh, you were talking utter nonsense, of course," said The Mother. "You know how it is when people talk in their sleep, they never make sense."

"No," I said, "I don't know how it is when people talk in their sleep as I'm obviously the one doing all the talking and you're the one doing all the listening."

Then I tried to remember what I'd really been doing on Friday night after I'd closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

"I think it was on Friday that I climbed Everest . . . or that might have been the night Jeremy Paxman and I flew in a hot air balloon over the Eiffel Tower," I told The Mother.

"No, actually I think it was Friday that I met the Queen and she sent you her regards."

"I never have dreams," The Mother said, as if dreaming was a sign of serious mental instability and on no account to be made public.

"That's all right, you're always in mine," I said. "When I climbed Everest, for instance, you were ahead of me, just about to reach the summit clutching your little Union Jack. I was shouting encouragement, and then I woke up.

"As for the balloon flight round the Eiffel Tower, you loved it. I had to shout at you to get back in the basket when you recognised Jeremy.

"And tonight there we were again, walking in The Lanes, when I was swept away by this enormous wave. I was shouting to you for help but you'd vanished . . . "

Suddenly I was struck by a rather disturbing realisation.

"I know - and you know - who I'm talking to in my sleep. It's obvious," I said.

The Mother didn't reply, well not unless you count a gentle "ZZzzzzzz."