Morphine is taking me all over the place. If I shut my eyes, particularly after a long day, I disappear into parallel universe.  Recently I spent what seemed like hours and hours trying to persuade Seb that, really, the best way to transport a group of baby raccoons out of the woods was to get a washing machine and put them in the drum.  Only to open my eyes and wail to a bemused Matron A that there was no way raccoons would like to be transported in a washing machine.  And she thought we were watching The Great British Bake Off.