Read by Ray Newe
To reach me in my drunken slumber, Chisel’s cries for help had to cut their way through a beautiful dream I’d been having.
A dream, funnily enough, about Chisel in trouble.
He might have been drowning. Or dangling from a cliff-edge over croc-infested waters. Or dragged by his Chelsea scarf into the jaws of an industrial wood-chipper. Whatever the details, I had a hard time convincing myself to wake up and help him.