I live with John Cleese and his wife - they're not my parents but my guardians, and I help them out in the business. We make something and sell it. I've just come in from outside, and there's a guy over by one of the machines trying to get a sample of some stuff, and he's going away leaving the spigot dripping from the ceiling (way up above). I'm looking at it, trying to figure out what to do next - I stick my finger in it to taste it, and it's going faster now, turning into a stream. John Cleese arrives, horrified, saying we've got to fix it - he's talking quietly so as not to disturb the customers or appear upset, but he's pissed. He mutters "cream" as he's turning to go fix it, and I call out - "Uh, it's caramel" after him (the stuff is a stream of caramel rather like the cajeta sauce at A fast food chain). I don't think he hears me... In another room, which is huge like a gym and has some equipment in it, I'm watching John up on a high wire on a bicycle - he's got one of those long poles. He's going to work on some sort of machinery and this is the only way to get to it.