It’s not so much that all my clothes were skimpy in the usual sense – short skirts and low necklines – it was way more worrying. There was a wedding, or party, I had to attend (I can’t remember exactly except that it was extremely important to look great). I became more and more anxious as I tried on everything in the wardrobe and found, with horror, that each item of apparel had been sabotaged in some way. A pair of trousers, gorgeous from the front view, had a window of material cut out the back to reveal half of my bottom; one top had a sleeve missing, another had a circle cut out exposing one side of my bra and another was bare from the waist to the top of the bodice. I was becoming more and more frantic. What did it mean? Who did it? What would my boyfriend do? Boyfriend? (Did you ask?) Yes boyfriend – my boyfriend was Tony Soprano!

Luckily, Chris awakened me before anything more dreadful happened but it took ages for me to come out of it and open my eyes, it was one of those dreams that pins you down and keeps you captive.

I guess I’ve been watching too much of “The Sopranos” (thanks to my brother Henry’s suggestion, we have the box set of all the episodes in every series – more than 100 episodes). We’re currently up to series three and have been witness to many murders, terrible violence, adultery, naked breasts and appalling language, however, it is intriguing and full of wry humour. Chris and I have to keep reminding ourselves that the endearing and troubled gangster boss Tony Soprano (played by the late James Gandolfini) really is evil.

Years ago I couldn’t bear to watch “The Godfather” or any of the gangster films. I’ve read the book recently, or rather I have had it read to me – I like to “read” whilst painting – and, surprisingly, I enjoyed it. I’m a bit worried that I’m more into violence than sissy romance stories (and I can relate to Tony Soprano’s female psychiatrist who has been strangely affected by her gangster patient).

Last week I decided to have a break from gangster books and try detective novels, which, in fact, are equally as violent and full of expletives (the perfect foil, I find, to painting pretty skies with pink clouds).

Another little worry in the past few months is that I keep having a recurring dream about AlPacino – he’s my lover – which probably sounds like quite a nice healthy dream… except that in my dreams he isn’t a young handsome gangster or detective, but a decrepit actor as portrayed in the film “The Humbling” (also titled “The Last Act”). I must admit that I enjoyed being his dream girlfriend. All the same I think I ought to revisit Charlotte Bronte, Jane Austen or… how about D.H. Lawrence?

The Foil