FOR someone who likes to think of themselves as a reasonably alert, switched-on sort of bloke, I do seem to spend a large amount of time daydreaming.
I don't mean in the sense that I'm caught standing in the middle of the road, staring blankly into the distance, lost in my own world, while cars swerve to avoid me.
It's more that my desired life runs in direct contrast to the one I actually lead, meaning I spend hours in the gym, out running, sitting on trains or maybe in the bath assessing my life as a professional footballer, cricketer, pop star or Lothario.
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I know everyone does this, but they're not so much dreams as the acting out in my mind of whole scenarios.
It's not just a case of scoring the winning goal in a Wembley cup final, but playing a full season of 40-odd league games, plus cup matches, having good games and bad, suffering injuries, scoring goals, missing chances and picking up yellow and red cards. Hell, I even train in these dreams.
As an imaginary pop star, I've had number one singles and flops, recorded that difficult third album, had problems with drink and drugs and railed against the establishment in music magazines, influencing, for good or bad, a whole generation of youngsters along the way.
I've written genre-defining novels that have been compared to The Catcher in the Rye and Catch 22 and led me to be invited on to programmes such as The Late Show, where I have been involved in debate over the important issues of the day with the likes of Stephen Fry.
I've even risen through the political ranks from parish councillor to Prime Minister, securing victories for villagers whose grass verges haven't been cut in months and solving problems in the Middle East.
And my life as a Lothario? Well, you wouldn't want to know.
All of this, of course, has enabled me to live the good life, but I've given money to charity, helped villages in the Third World have access to water and let poorer locals use the sports facilities contained within the grounds of my mansion.
The reality behind all of this is that I've had long enough to attempt to write a novel, learn to sing or play an instrument, hone my very limited football skills, carry out this charity work or write a letter to Kylie Minogue to express my true feelings.
Instead, all I've done is continue with my humdrum life, expecting something to happen - which idiot said "All things come to those who wait"? - instead of doing something about it.
I can't even expect to take the express route to fame and fortune as I don't even buy a Lottery ticket, and if I can't manage to get myself to the newsagents on a regular basis, how on earth can I ever make an impact in any walk of life?
I expect for now I'll just forget all of the above and dream up another life that will never happen.
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