A Mad Man With No Chance Of Leading Anything

Last night I had a crazy dream. I'd just stepped out into the street when a lovely little old man, hunch-backed and leaning on a walking stick looked up and smiled at me and said: "Right, I'm off. You can have the lot of them." Before I had time to begin musing over his strange conundrum, the answer revealed itself in the form of a - well, the only appropriate collective noun I can find is "swarm" - of little yellow munchkins. They were everywhere. I felt I was drowning in a sea of them. Each one with a strange back logo emblazoned on their shirt, looking like a mutilated pigeon.

"Help us", they cried out pitifully. "Help us, Luke. We've lost our home and we have nowhere to go. Let us into your flat. Oh please do!" Just the thought of these horrible, deformed, flightless dwarves filling every room in my house filled me with revulsion. The sight of their beaks and claws was enough to make me retch. And, worse still, some of them were stabbing each other with their talons. I averted my eyes from the horror and rushed back inside my castle, slamming the door. It was a trick I'd learnt from my good friend Julian Pipeshaft. But the defences were inadequate. The yellow munchkins started to break the windows and some, more adventurously, were climbing up the drainpipe in the hope of gaining admission via the chimney. Three of them perched on eachother's shoulders and pressed the doorbell...

And that's when I woke up. I haven't told Linda yet, but I'm going to ask for a psychiatric referral next time I see my GP. I mean, there's clearly something completely mad about someone who dreams about the Labour Party being flooded with disaffected LibDem MPs and members. I need help.