An Olympian book tour (Belle)

Posted on August 9, 2025 by Dreamaticus

I had published a book called “Yestermorrow“.

My publisher had sent me on a book and dinner publicity tour around various Olympic Games athlete’s villages. I ate and stayed with gymnasts from eastern Europe and discus throwers from Australasia.

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A precious Corstorphine carry-out (Rousse)

Posted on August 4, 2025 by Dreamaticus

Where had  I left my coat, blue shoulder bag, and best jewellery? I thought that I had checked all the possible places on the Queen Margaret campus in Corstorphine. Little D (M’s sister), who had also misplaced her belongings, joined the hunt. We eventually found everything on a coat rack on the lower ground floor.

The next challenge was to safely cross the river, with all my belongings, on a rising tide. TPR swam over to help me. I wore my coat and shoulder bag, and carried most of the jewellery on my person, stuffing the rest into the pockets of TPR’s Barbour jacket.

We had to hurry because the warden wanted us off the premises by 4pm.

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Topless dining (Rousse)

Posted on August 3, 2025 by Dreamaticus

My online friend K invited me out for a meal with her husband A.

I wouldn’t have accepted had I known that she would sit at the table topless, and expected me to ‘dress’ the same.

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Edinburgh Fringe misery (Rousse)

Posted on August 3, 2025 by Dreamaticus

Encouraged by favourable reviews from 2024, I felt foolish to have bought tickets for this truly dreadful Edinburgh Fringe show one year later.

My miserable face on the audience selfie distributed after the show said it all.

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Illegal immigrant civil engineer offers advice for an ample bosom (Rousse)

Posted on August 2, 2025 by Dreamaticus

Had I been a couple of feet closer to the passageway, the man who emerged backwards carrying a long rake could have decapitated me. I should have paid more attention when I first saw the broom and hosepipe stacked up against the wall on Melgund Terrace, Edinburgh.

I wondered whether the man was an immigrant street cleaner. The city streets could certainly do with some attention at the height of summer. When I asked him, he told me that he was indeed currently employed in this minimum wage role, but was also looking for work more suited to his qualifications as a civil engineer. He then used his professional knowledge to examine the structure of my bra, concluding that it was unsuitable for my ample bosom.

A squad of police officers brought our conversation to a sudden halt. Their fearsome female boss told me the shocking news that my new friend was an illegal immigrant from Nigeria and due to be deported.

I made a dash for my friend Leah at the council. She had the skills and knowledge to deal with this situation. However, she was sorry to tell me that she had no influence whatsoever on deportation cases such as this. Even if she did, she was far too busy to help.

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The husband clone (Rousse)

Posted on July 29, 2025 by Dreamaticus

My problems more than doubled when my husband was cloned. Which man was which? How long would the clone last? If one died, how soon afterwards would the other follow?

Then there was the issue of explaining this bizarre situation to everyone. When even our two year-old nephew X noticed that something was different, I vowed never to allow the husband pair together in the same room when we had company.

The only person left unperturbed by all this was my demented 85 year-old mother.

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Sir Keir Starmer in platform shoes

Posted on July 25, 2025 by Dreamaticus

Sir Keir Starmer in tottering platform shoes was a useful distraction on the day of my mother’s funeral.

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Action-packed Pitlochry (Rousse)

Posted on July 13, 2025 by Dreamaticus

BR was busy organising meetings to address his latest work predicament, my sister J was about to arrive in town at the invitation of her daughter A, and my deceased father was almost completely submerged in the water of Loch Faskally fishing for salmon. It was all happening in Pitlochry.

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Adventures with a Ford Granada (Rousse)

Posted on July 8, 2025 by Dreamaticus

I took my mother’s car keys without her knowledge and set off in the Granada to the meeting at the Royal Society of Edinburgh. I followed the car in front, stupidly assuming that the driver was also heading in the same direction as me.

I felt rather foolish when the driver pulled into the golf club, parked in the car park, and pulled his clubs out of his boot. I would have parked next to him had I known where to find the brake on the Granada. Instead I lost control of the vehicle and bounced across the greens until the car came to a standstill in a bunker, much to the disgust of the golfers.

Conscious of the urgency of reaching the meeting, I restarted the car and drove the rest of the way to Hexham. I parked the car in a side street and took myself, plus pen and paper for minute taking, to join the others at the board table.

By the time that the meeting was over, I had completely forgotten the location of the car. I hunted all the side streets to the west end and back again, passing the police station, brothel, and the wide expanse of the Seil.

Still car-less I bumped into my cousin R. He told me that he had an amazing secret to share, but he couldn’t get it out.

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