Iain Maciver writes …

EVER woken up in the middle of the night and found yourself completely sure you were somewhere else entirely? The dream you had was so real that you are still sure that you are there doing whatever you dreamed you were doing? No? Just me, then.

Research has shown that has happened to most people, but very few will admit it – not in front of their partner, anyway.

As my dream the other night concerned nothing more saucy that sitting in a Rolls-Royce in front of a huge house which looked a bit like Lews Castle with a butler who looked a bit like Alex Salmond, I don’t care who knows.

Everyone says that you’ve got to have a dream. Some people have even written songs to say as much. It’s just that some people have fantastic dreams compared to mine. They show up my dreams as pathetic wee visions that never come to pass.

Maybe that is because we learn to be more careful about what we really want. As we get older and wiser, we realise that it is actually really dangerous to dream and wish upon a star. I once closed my eyes really hard and dreamed that I was married to a lassie from Plasterfield.

And just look what happened. Nearly 13 years later, she is upstairs now in the huff because I said I may mention her in the paper this week, but wouldn’t tell her why.

No, I don’t regret that dream. Of course not. Except when she flounces off upstairs muttering that she should have married someone caring, thoughtful and loving when she had the chance. He must have been from the mainland. Can’t have been anyone from Stornoway, that’s for sure.

It was one of these What Happened 25 Years Ago reports that reminded me how people I’ve known had bigger dreams than me.

It was all about a former RAF colleague of mine. Bill Grant, who I think was from Nairn, worked in the Bird Control Unit.

Similar things were happening in our lives back then. His job was to scare the birds away from the end of the runway so the Nimrods could take off and land safely at Kinloss. He had this amazing big pistol to shoot flares over the birds which would then explode with an almighty bang and rattle the windows in nearby Findhorn.

Me, I also used to scare the birds, but it was the ones at the Naafi disco at the weekend. But then maybe that was because I didn’t have an impressive weapon that shoogled anyone’s glazing.

Bill was always going off on these trips here and there and telling us all about the things he wanted to do with his life.

After I got posted down south, it wasn’t long before I heard an item on the radio in which he said he was going to use his RAF payoff to go off on an expedition to the Himalayas.

He hoped to get to the bottom of the legend of the Abominable Snowman.

Crikey. The only legends I was into back then were the fabulous icons of rock’n’roll superstardom. Yep, the incomparable Rolling Stones and the fantastic, or at least slightly amazing, er, Village People. I know, I know, don’t go on about it. Remember I was young. I was from Stornoway. The Young Men’s Christian Association was a big thing here. May still be, but no one is allowed to mention the guys from that particular village.

Bill nearly came a cropper when heavy snowstorms cut off his only route in a mountain pass high up at something like 20,000 feet. But he was found by a sherpa and led to safety just in the nick of time. He was made a fellow of the Royal Geographical Society after that. And you don’t get that just for giving a fine rendition of In the Navy.

I found footage on the internet of Bill taking part with two outrageous liars in a TV game show. Various celebrities of the 1980s were trying to figure out which one of them was rightfully claiming to be a yeti hunter called Bill Grant. Not an everyday job, that one.

Maybe Bill didn’t ever stumble across the fabled hairy creature with the supposedly big feet, although he did make several trips to places like Nepal and Tibet. However, he followed his dream.

I must do that. If I close my eyes really hard, herself might come down and make me a cuppa. No, nothing’s happening.

Wait. I must be in the Himalayas. All I can see is this creature lumbering towards me. It’s carrying something.

It is offering them to me. Good grief, it looks strangely like . . . a mug of tea and a custard cream.