Deep in grief following the death of my two-inch long human ‘feather’ baby daughter, I found some solace in explaining the Hanoverian succession to an Indian.
Meanwhile a nearby stranger plucked a pink, white and orange-plumed merganser duck out of the river. We all stroked its beautiful back before its release (unperturbed) back into the water.
My brother-in-law M bought an ornate pink and grey painted, fake antique, half-size wooden standard lamp as a birthday present for my sister J. He thought that it looked great plonked in the middle of their bedroom on its very own Persian silk rug. My sister was unimpressed – so much so that she believed that her husband no longer loved her.
Meanwhile I was at the centre of an argument at the White House, Hartburn. It started when I pointed out to my mother that it would make more sense to place dirty sheets and towels in a linen basket rather than fling everything on the floor of the upstairs kitchen. This escalated into a full scale row as I went on to list many other grievances about the standard of household management in our family home.
It wasn’t completely clear whether my new project, being filmed in Miami in a beautiful, bright colour palette, was a documentary or not.
I was following two young American strangers as they took too many drugs and repeatedly failed to show up for work. At one point, they were both so impaired that, as they walked down the street, they simply fell out of their trousers.
This was not their lowest point, though. In the middle of the afternoon, they broke into a mansion and walked into the swimming pool. Here they were joined by a passing bear, and the three of them hugged quietly.
I could tell that the police concluded that I knew a little too much about the abduction of the girl from Teesside High School. If I were an innocent bystander, I should not have known the name of the victim.
However, my cast-iron alibis were such that the detective knew for certain that I couldn’t have been involved in the crime. Now I just had to keep to myself that my sister S was the source of my privileged information.
TPR was now the proud owner of a beautiful new timber frame house built on a remote coastal spot on the Isle of Skye. I loved the floor to ceiling windows for the fabulous views that they gave out to sea. I also admired a corner of the kitchen that had been decked out in yellow, and decorated with yellow and white ceramic ornaments. This had to be my work.
Less attractive was the house’s white plastic front door. It appeared to have been used by all and sundry to measure and record the heights of each and every visitor to the building.
TPR was also annoyed that a scruffy bearded pipe smoker had taken up residence in his otherwise tidy sitting room.
I was excited that the winner of a top television general knowledge quiz show was keen to meet me – even though I had heard the rumours that he was a cheat.
I was less impressed when Boris Johnson – dressed a clown outfit – appeared next in line to shake my hand.
I opened the fridge door looking seeking inspiration for the meal that my book group pals expected me to serve within the hour. Whatever could I concoct from a few parched slices of corned beef, some limp lettuce, and a box of tomatoes on the turn?
And how soon could I prepare the plates? DM was particularly keen to eat quickly because she needed to head up to town for a series of Edinburgh Fringe performances that evening.
Suddenly everything went completely black. I couldn’t see SM in the passenger seat to the right of me, my hands on the steering wheel, nor – most frightening of all – the road ahead.
While TPR found a parking space for our red Peugeot 205 near the World’s End pub in Edinburgh’s Old Town, I retreated to the Merchiston campus of Edinburgh Napier University.
On arrival in the department, I stripped off all my soaked cycling gear and hung it on the white Aga in the school office. I had made such a stupid mistake when dressing that morning. My outfit for a long road race in Scotland should have taken into account the rainy weather.
TPR walked back across town to campus to find me. Then he scooped me up and we sat in the corridor with some colleagues while we waited for my clothes to dry. It was only when MS and IH started giggling that I realised that wandering around campus stark naked was not a good look.
What was I supposed to do with a tiny, yellow-eyed baby?
Dreamaticus 