Talking to Gordon

So there I was, chatting away to Gordon Brown. It was all going surprisingly well, as we exchanged light-hearted remarks about family life, football (a bit one-sided there) and this and that. Good Lord, I thought - it's true what his supporters (or is it just his wife?) say: he really is a rather warm and witty human being. I made a mental note to revise my prejudices... At this point, a relaxed Gordon reached into a box of large expensive cigars, took one and lit up, without so much as waving the box in my direction. It smelt delicious too. Brown withdrew into his inner darkness, we fell silent, and I took my leave. 'See you' he said, with a small smile and wave.
Yes of course it was a dream, don't worry, and it visited me, for reasons unknown, last night. It was at once rather sweet and funny, and faintly unnerving, especially as Gordon seemed to have ensconced himself in one room of a large house otherwise filled with family and old friends (many of whom I now see in dreams more often than in the waking world). I do occasionally have these dreams of eminent figures - once, as long-memoried readers might recall, of Vladimir Nabokov. Another time it was Robert Frost, and a terrifying old man he was...