I woke up this morning with Radio 2 playing Sam Carter's 'Dreams are Made of Money'.
No matter how hard I try, I can't fault its message and makes me sad.
I remembered a day walking through a meadow in the mountains in Romania, in the strong heat of the summer when the air is hazy and the grass can touch the sky with its scents.
Suddenly and out of nowhere, clouds of small and totally blue butterflies filled the path and followed us for a while dancing around, to then just disappear into another world.
I have these days when I need to go away from the city and walk the hills - it's the only time I can abandon my dreams made of money.
And for a short while dream of blue butterflies.