Plays raining from existential clouds that smile

I dreamt last night that Bessy had written a spectacular play when unconscious. I checked with Felix that it had only been a dream, when I drank tea with him at the bench. Felix said there were two ways of telling if a dog has written a play when unconscious or not: firstly, by asking the dog if it remembers writing it and secondly, by performing the play and seeing if the dog goes into an existential crisis when it sees it.

Cookie, when not otherwise engaged with the yew tree or her pop idols, likes to write fictional treatment plans for patients. Thus, Mr Warner arrived this morning expecting, according to his notes, to have implanted in his mouth Clouds-that-rain-sparkly-things-to-make-everyone-smile. I knew this was one of Cookie's fictions because the curmudgeonly Mr Warner wouldn't wish anyone a smile. There may be a sensible and self-preserving reason for this.

Margaret fell off a cloud once, when trying to reach for a tin of beans. We don't eat tinned beans anymore. George tells me there is a great tradition amongst his ancient clan of deliberately falling from clouds in order to improve the experience of eating tinned beans. He was sure I had missed a great opportunity by giving them up.

Talking of which, I am taking this opportunity between patients to recall Bessy's unconscious play from my dream, given the reviews it received. I have an idea I might have George perform it in the waiting room. From what I can recall, there were no clouds in the sky on the day the play took place. And there were no beans either, which is a shame. I trust Bessy will outlive the shock.