JM and I were the target of terrorists. We suspected that a suicide bomber would enter the building to blow it up from the inside.
We rushed to grab all our belongings (why had I brought so many grey jumpers and fleeces, and where was my black handbag?), raced down the stairs (avoiding the lift), and stood at a safe distance to witness the explosion.
I had made a public announcement about my “fantastic boobs” and now here I was being asked to prove it on my first day working at Ye Olde Medieval Fayre. The market town square was beautiful. Bunting was flying and hogs were roasting. My uniform consisted of a long pale yellow skirt, an apron to tie around my waist, a pair of clogs and a cap with ribbons. I was expected to sell these fruit buns to the masses naked from middle up.
I was briefly reunited with my old Peugeot 205. A deaf French woman drove it into town.
The car now sported French plates, and half its body work was white rather than red.
I introduced CA to TPR as my new lover-to-be. This new relationship was to be understood as a positive career move, though for whom uncertain. Part of the deal on my side was an agreement to take on CA’s two sons in the twenties.
Having gone through a similar process with TPR’s sister S a couple of weeks before – she had also taken on a new man and his children – I foresaw a myriad of complications around future family gatherings at Christmas.
At the end of the Christmas holiday, my mother and I were guests of MB at the Old Ladies’ Lunch in Humshaugh. (I was a little offended at the invitation, but not sufficiently to refuse a good meal.)
Two ‘spare’ cats were also in attendance. The huge, black fluffy one wrapped itself like a luxury fur around my mother’s neck and shoulders. I was more taken by the tiny leopard spot kitten and its enormous Puss in Boots eyes. It looked like at least one of these creatures would be coming home with us, most likely the black one. The two shy house cats would be staying put.
We returned to the house by bus. All along the A69 the driver took great pleasure in treating pedestrians as skittles. He had a particular talent for taking out pensioners with walking sticks.
The university was clearly flaunting the safe distancing ‘stay at home’ directive by allowing all the admin staff on campus and setting them up for work in one massive open plan office in the library.
I also disapproved of the changes to the library stock. The shelves were now crammed with multiple copies of trashy crimes novels.
At the invitation of BB and JB, I delivered a presentation on knowledge management to a class of twenty bored Irish young farmers.
Within minutes of my leaving the class room, a member of the audience rang me to ask for further information on the topic of my talk. A real expert would have easily answered his straightforward questions, but I couldn’t. My cover was blown.
I spotted a vintage poster with the headline “I love drawing pens”. I couldn’t help but notice the typesetter had left a space between the “n” and the “s” so I decided to amend the poster to read “I love drawing penis”. I laughed so hard in the most self congratulatory way possible. How was it possible that I was so funny and clever?
Then I cut myself a terrible fringe with the kitchen scissors. Suddenly I wasn’t as clever as I thought I was.
After months of coronavirus lockdown, we were let back on to campus.
I followed AD and LK along the corridor to my office. There we found a couple of admin staff using the room for a meeting. It didn’t take long to shoo them out, then we sat down for our discussions of thesis external examiners.
It was good to be back in my room, but when had they built the train line and passenger platform outside the window? I remarked to the others that I could easily serve tea to the railway workers at such close proximity.
EH and I were reminiscing about her old wardrobe. We spoke fondly of her purple party dress from Phase eight. ‘It even won me AHRC funding’ gushed my admiring friend.
Dreamaticus 