My bedside radio-alarm clock is set to wake me with the dulcet tones of Radio Four every morning.

I choose to wake up to Radio Four for two reasons

• having to wake to the Today programme with John Humphrys is enough to boil the blood and promote an early rise from a deep sleep
• it’s the only radio station my radio-alarm clock receives

My alarm is set to go off at 6.30am, a good forty-five minutes before I need to get up at 7.15. This is to allow me to pathetically mash the snooze button on the alarm clock several times and drop back off to sleep for a further nine minutes. It’s during these snooze periods that I tend to have rather unusual and vivid dreams, usually induced by the content of Radio Four.

Today was no exception.

This morning I awoke to the sad news of the sudden death of  the writer and broadcaster Sir Clement Freud. At first I didn’t comprehend the news straight away, the words “died” and “Freud” swam around my head as I dropped back into my normal snooze-slumber and I soon found myself in the weird world of my dreams…

In the dream I was on an escalator in the London Underground. In front of me on the escalator was Clement Freud (in this case an exact facsimile of Liverpool manager Rafa Benitez) sat at a small, round table. He was smartly dressed in a dinner jacket, smoking a cigar and drinking from a bottle of champagne as he told me his funny stories from his childhood.  Stood next to him listening intently was a bearded knight and a man dressed in a shark costume.

I’ve attempted to recreate the dream in the picture below

Sir Clement Freud was 84.