I dreamt that there was a national referendum to decide whether Hazel Blears should become Deputy PM. I was voting in a tiny cafe in London, where I sat drinking coffee and deliberating over my decision whilst being joined by a succession of people I knew but was trying to avoid because they all wanted to sleep with me. But I remained calm and witty, and remember saying to everyone I met “I don’t want to vote for Hazel Blears, but who else is there??”
When I finally came to vote, the cafe owner was clearing away the voting slips and said I couldn’t – but I’d been waiting there all day so pushed for my right to get my vote in. At which point I woke up so will never know what happened next.
