Katie Holland: The odd land of nod

You wouldn't believe the crazy stuff I get up to at night.

Sorry to disappoint you but I'm talking dreams.

My nights are always full of vivid, sometimes terrifying and often bizarre and completely random dreams. Just last week the undoubtedly sophisticated Our People writer Jill Nicholas made an appearance as a New York City cab driver, complete with drawling Queens accent. She picked me up and took me to a deli where she ordered a pastrami on rye. Where does my mind get this stuff? I don't even know what pastrami is.

I really wish I could say Mrs Nicholas was wearing a white singlet and gold chains with a cigarette hanging out the corner of her mouth but even my subconscious knew that would be pushing it too far.

It's getting a bit awkward around one particular colleague as she seems to regularly feature in my dreams. No, not like that. In fact quite the opposite. In most of them she meets a violent end - most recently shot by Nazis after I stepped out of the line of fire. As she lay there dying in a pool of blood I promised in a movie-like melodramatic way to take care of her son.

It's been more than a decade since I graduated uni yet I keep dreaming I'm back there - always failing my courses, trying to find a classroom but always being foiled. In real life, I did once turn up two hours late to an end of year three-hour exam, so maybe there's some foundation to these dreams, but I still passed (hey, a C+ works) and never failed a paper.

Another of my recurring dreams is the classic teeth falling out. Or rather crumbling out. At least once a week I wake up frantically patting my mouth to check they're still there. The internet says this represents change, loss, stress, insecurity, but I reckon it could just be a sign I drink way too much diet cola.

I'm always surprised when people claim they don't dream, or if they do they don't remember them. I don't know whether to envy them or pity them. Sure, the phase where I got stabbed every night wasn't much fun, for me or my then boyfriend who woke up with bruised shins every morning. But oh what fun waking up after a Jill-as-a-cab driver night. It's like going to a surprise movie every night, featuring your nearest and dearest as cast members.

Apparently Sigmund Freud's theory was that your dreams are an expression of what you're repressing during the time you are awake.

If that's the case, the psychiatrists would have a field day with me. And workmate (you know who you are) - you should probably look out.

Sweet dreams all.