In this fantasy I am driving along the Autobahn between Köln and Aachen.

A large Winnebago has pulled to the side of the road ahead. An anxious-looking man flags me down.

'This could be trouble,' I say to Jetta. 'It is certainly irregular.' Jetta says nothing. Little do I know what is in store.

'Can you help me,' says the man. 'I am Roy Orbison's tour manager.'

'Also?' I say in polite surprise. I have already read the legend 'Roy Orbison tour bus' on the side of the vehicle.

I get out of the car. 'What seems to be the problem?'

He leads me to the back of the van. 'Roy has succumbed to a heart attack and is clinically dead,' he explains, indicating a certain well-known man in black sprawled on the floor of the vehicle.

'So,' I say.

'Are you perchance a doctor?'

'No. I studied at a catering college for some years but was forced to leave for reasons I prefer not to disclose.'

'Ach! Then I am at a loss what to do.'

'There is one thing we might try,' I say with elaborate nonchalance. 'If we were to wrap him in cling-film, this would prevent corruption setting in until we can get him to a hospital.'

'It is certainly worth a try. But I have no cling-film.'

'Fortunately I have several rolls in the car.' I go to the car and retrieve it. The tour manager looks anxiously over my shoulder as I set to work. 'I must work undisturbed,' I tell him. He nods and gives me privacy.

Now it is just me and Roy Orbison and the cling-film. I start from the ankles and work up to the trademark dark glasses, wrapping slowly and carefully. Soon Roy Orbison is completely wrapped in cling-film. He is like a big black beetle wrapped in a silvery cocoon. The satisfaction is unparalleled by anything in my previous existence.

'He is completely wrapped in cling-film,' I call to the manager. 'I will accompany him as you drive to the hospital.'

Four hours later Roy Orbison sits up in bed in hospital and smiles at me.

'I hear I owe you my life,' he says. 'Please accept these concert tickets.'

I bow politely. 'There is something you perhaps should know. While you were in a coma I was forced to wrap you entirely in cling-film.'

'Quick thinking,' says Roy.

'You did not mind?'

Roy's expression is unreadable. 'I wasn't aware of it.' But was there the slightest twinkle behind those dark glasses?

Of course, I reflect as I return to the patient Jetta, there can be no question of him enjoying it, for he was dead at the time.

Or was he...???

More tales of Roy Orbison being wrapped in Clingfilm