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I used to dream of being other places, other people. It was an escape for me.

I have very weirdly realistic dreams where it could be real life, except it's not.

I used to have this fantasy when I was growing up where Princess Leia would be in the slave Leia costume and she would be in a vat of Breyer's ice cream. A recurring dream where I would eat my way to her.

I always wished for this, but it's almost turning into more of a nightmare than a dream.

I'm a really hectic dreamer; I never wake up not out of a dream, and there's loads going on, lots of action, big blockbuster dreams, they're all major enterprises.

One day, I'll disappear and hide in a corner of Britain. I'll own a bakery in a village, live above it, have a big garden because I like mowing. I want to get up when I feel like it, let people queue for my products, and when they're gone, shut the shop and think about tomorrow. Creating magic - that's my dream. And I'll do it.

But I don't begrudge anybody, because I know how hard it is to have that dream and to make it happen, whether or not it's just to put a roof over your head and food on the table.

For almost thirty years I repeatedly saw one and the same dream: I would arrive in Vienna at long last. I would feel really happy, for I was returning to my serene childhood.

I find myself dreaming of doing normal things - like staying home and washing dishes.