I tried to buy cigarettes in Paris but got distracted by lavender and mango bath salts which cost €52.50.
Later the rapper Aitch and I started a wildly successful YouTube channel (‘On The Ball’) in which we taught each other spectacular footballing skills. My signature move was long-range curving shots into the upper corner of the net.
I wasn’t happy to see two grown women walking a wild fox on a lead so I ‘liberated’ it. As I led it home, it kept nipping the back of my legs and its teeth were actually octopus suckers. Confused, I googled “foxes” and discovered that “foxes are misunderstood loom animals“.
A striking looking woman with dark hair picked me from the crowd of party-goers, grabbed me by the hands, and pulled me onto the dance floor. Across the room I could see my DJ husband cast me a worried glance from his position behind the record deck.
Didn’t I know that I was stepping on dangerous territory by accepting an invitation to dance with a woman at the Roxy Music disco?
The other passengers managed to haul me into the carriage when I took the stupid risk of ignoring the warning light and attempted to jump in at the very last moment. Now I could be certain that I would arrive in good time for the opening ceremony of the 2020 Olympic Games in Paris.
I texted my Canadian cousins to ask whether they would be taking part in the parade, or spectating like me. It was only then that I remembered that the games had been postponed due to the coronavirus pandemic.
I was travelling home from Europe on a train. A young man seated behind me slipped his navy track-suited arm around my shoulders. Romance! Later, he asked me for money to buy weed, but said he wouldn’t necessarily ask me for money “the next time”. I opened my bag to look for my purse and remembered I was transporting home two large, bloody pieces of uncooked steak.
TPR threatened to accompany me to the ball naked. Happily, instead, he dressed in his dinner suit.
However, he did have a big surprise for me. He had rounded up my two best friends from undergraduate days (HJ and SL) and four others from our early twenties (NY, SY, AH-S and CH-S) to join us at the celebration. Everyone was very smartly dressed. The women in our company were even wearing hats.
We left our hotel on foot for the venue. Along the way we wondered at SL’s language prowess: she now was fluent in French, German, Spanish, Italian and Latin.
I was surprised that nobody commented on the small white monkey that was bouncing along beside us all. Its tiny hands were clinging on to N and S. Perhaps everyone else just assumed this figure to be a child rather than a primate?
I had just reached the head of the queue when the official stepped back and announced that all services would be closed for an hour while passport office staff took a break for lunch. All the equipment on his desk was within easy reach and I seriously considered stamping my own documents. Sensibly, however, I wandered outside to amuse myself for the next sixty minutes.
An old man along the path invited me over for a ‘hug’. I politely declined and instead approached another man man who was sheltering under a white tarpaulin with a huge golden retriever dog. He told me that he was researching the early history of the Royal Dick School of Veterinary Studies at the University of Edinburgh. He would be delighted to share with me his archive of photos from the 1950s and 1960s so that I check for pictures of my father amongst them.
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.
Dreamaticus 