PC took advantage of his time off work on sick leave to redecorate his office. He hung a bold wallpaper of blue and yellow blobs on all four walls to create a ‘homely’ feel.
I was so impressed that I almost considered doing something similar in my own office – but in the end I couldn’t be bothered.
Everyone was raving about a new BBC lifestyle documentary about keeping a loving relationship alive – starring my cousin SA and his wife LA! The quality of the production was superb, and it was no surprise that this show was such a success.
Meanwhile my own life was going down the tubes. I hadn’t seen my PhD supervisor at the University of Birmingham for months (and had no progress to report to him anyway), and I could tell that TPR was desperately seeking a polite way to dump me.
SC warned me about the jewellery thieves of Pitlochry. They came from out of town, armed with nothing but a strong grip. Their modus operandi was to force a victim against a wall, reach for their hands, tug off all their rings, and then make their escape with the pilfered booty.
SC advised that I remove my rings straightaway and store them safely during my entire visit.
I spent the day cycling with David Beckham, his wife Victoria, and their young son.
At no point were we recognised, even at a busy London railway station. This was thanks to the clever way that David wore wraparound sunglasses, and tucked his distinctive blond hair tightly under a baseball cap. That he was riding a bike with a luggage tag-along along helped with the disguise.
Poor Darren had his work cut out on the Customer Services counter at the Gateshead Sainsbury’s megastore. His queue grew longer and longer as I explained the whole sorry tale of my purchases.
I had selected a mix of groceries and garden supplies (as advised by my long dead paternal grandmother), paid for everything, then left my laden trolley in the shop entrance. When I returned later to collect my newly acquired goods, they had disappeared!
I hoped that Darren would be able to reimburse me: as a resident of civilised Edinburgh, how was I supposed to know that Gateshead teenagers steal from unattended shopping trolleys on their long summer school holidays?
I reluctantly agreed to provide an alibi for KW and told the police that he was at the Tuesday lunchtime meeting. As evidence, I showed them the entry in my calendar.
Of course, in reality, at that time KW was engaged in his murderous act.
He then drove south to BC’s house in Sussex and – without her knowledge – stored the corpse in her attic.
I was returning the keys of the Lomax so that someone else could take it for a drive when a woman at the sink shrieked.
‘It’s Elaine’s head – as a baby!” she shouted ‘And several more of them coming out of the plug hole and the overflow!’
A few of us peered over, horrified to see several miniature newborns with enormous heads emerge from the plumbing. I wanted to make a run for it like everyone else, but I couldn’t just leave the two huge piles of our belongings on the floor. It was especially important that I completed the packing because TPR and I needed to audit everything for division at the point of our divorce.
I raced to stuff everything into the suitcases and bags before one (or more) of the ugly pink babies leapt off the draining board and selected me for motherhood.
I was very angry to find dog’s paw prints along the skirting board and up the edge of the wallpaper in the corridor.
I was angrier still when I saw that someone had vandalised the same wall with details in black marker pen of a student party on Forrest Road.
I was pretty sure that I knew the culprits: HR and her wife JH.
TPR bought me a midnight blue Porsche, then instructed me to drive him from the south west of England to Lowestoft. He announced that this would be our final trip before he divorced me.
It was an emotionally painful journey. The car was also very difficult to handle, mainly because its only brake was the type found on a primitive of child’s scooter. Added to this, we had no map, and no money for the 5.9p toll road that ran alongside the M25.
When we stopped for directions, TPR chatted up a bunch of walkers from Wales instead of paying attention to the instructions of the two kind man who were trying to help us. By this point of the journey I couldn’t wait to be rid of him.
Dreamaticus 