Kittens, Old Men, Stanley Tucci and Blood Stained Toilets

So I woke up after hearing the workmen knocking down the scaffolding outside and went into the kitchen to make some coffee (after playing with the kitten who was sleeping on my pillow).  The West End musical stars that had been staying in my flat for a few days had moved around my magic whiteboards and I was none too happy about it.  My mate Matt was also staying and he told me not to be such a girl about it.

There was an old man hovering around my kitchen so I told him to sit down whilst I made him a cuppa.  It turned out he had been living in my cupboard for the last 3 years but had always managed to avoid being seen.  The West End singers sang a song about it and I wanted to thump them.

I decided that I needed to find the old man a place to live, but before I did, I would need a holiday in Florida.  I tried to find my passport as it had just been returned after getting my name changed on it (from my married name *shudder*).

I found a note where my passport should be which told me to 'go to the hotel of horrors and work my way through the clues to get my passport back'.

Fine.  Off I went.  I knew where this hotel was, apparently.

I got there and headed to the bar and found my mate Tim.  He was on lager but asked me to buy him a half pint of ale.  I had to help change the barrel.  After I bought Tim his drink, I saw a shadow and knew he had my passport.  I followed him but instead of walking like a normal person, I roly polyed over the chairs and banisters like a knobhead (it was totally normal in the dream though).

I ended up in the toilets.  It was clear there had been a massacre as there was blood dripping from everywhere.  I felt the need to change clothes but as I was standing in my pants, Stanley Tucci poked his head over the top of the cubicle and told me he'd been following me and that he liked my pants and could he please shag me after I'd had a poo.  Sure, I said, thinking this would get my passport back quicker.  He took ages and I told him that he should practice more and then come back and see me cos I had things to do and didn't have time to show him what to do!

I ran outside in my pants and then back inside to put my jeans back on.  I then roly polyed my way round the hotel, through the blood stained corridors and away from the mad axemen, hell bent on finding my passport.

I found my passport in the safe, which is where I'd put it when I'd stayed at the hotel the week before.

A Chinese kung fu man tried to climb through the skylight to take my passport but I told him that I was going to Florida if it killed me and that I really couldn't be arsed with his stick chucking routine (he had those numbchuck things).  He ran away crying.

I woke up, in my own bed, with no kitten and with workmen shouting outside...