TPR and I set off to walk the west coast of the islands of Harris and Lewis. TPR soon lost patience at my poor progress, so we agreed that he would go on ahead at his own pace, and I would follow more slowly behind him.
After he disappeared into the distance I considered my options. This was going to be one hell of a slog.
Then, miraculously, I saw a helicopter crew nearby tending a fish farm. I wandered over to the workers, explained my predicament, and successfully hitched a ride home.
The promotion interviews were arranged for a Saturday morning in a school gym.
However, since I only learnt last minute that all candidates were required to give a presentation on their research, I arrived at the venue completely unprepared to speak about my work. I also turned up in jeans and a jumper rather than a suit.
On the spot I told the panel chair that I would be withdrawing my application. Later I put in a formal complaint to HR about their poor communication channels. A young woman offered me a thin red lipstick as compensation for my trouble.
I helped Katie Price and another glamour model shop for big knickers.
I wasn’t managing the conference stress very well. When a delegate requested a bacon sandwich, I jumped up on stage and shouted “Buy your own bloody pig!” over the microphone.
One minute I was watching the rain lash against a top bedroom window of a guest house on the Isle of Lewis. The next I was whipped up from my seat by the force of the hurricane and transported to the town of Langholm in the Borders.
I eventually returned to the Hebridean guest house in my red Peugeot 205, with a stop-off in Edinburgh along the way (narrowly avoiding a parking ticket in Abercromby Place).
When it was time to pack to go home at the end of our holiday, I was furious to find that my sisters had filled my suitcase with sticky nuts.
TPR and I had just moved into a massive fully-furnished modern house with views across the valley. Keen for his children to enjoy a country childhood, I persuaded PC and his family to take over one of the wings.
After a few days in residence, I decided that arrangement of the rooms was not exactly to my liking. I needed a study, but rather than use a pokey bedroom at the back for my workplace, I would prefer a room with a view.
I was just about to start moving furniture around so that I could place my desk at the mezzanine window that looked over the valley at the front, when a woman in a suit stopped me in my tracks. I was to touch nothing in the house other than straighten the beds and do some light hoovering. This property was now back on the market.
The members of my old running group were gathering in the gym. When I spotted the SEB joking with them I found it it very difficult to resist the urge to strangle her with a length of purple double knitting wool.
Seated in the back of the car to the left of me, JS asked why she would not be joining the book group trip to Dublin. I found it hard to believe that she had forgotten all about her forthcoming hospital visit, but kindly reminded her of her knee operation. Meanwhile I was trying to shrug off NI to my right as he attempted to put his left arm around my shoulders.
In the city of Dublin itself I was astonished by the enduring poverty of the city’s residents, who were crammed into medieval slum housing. Those lucky enough to have any cash were queuing outside the most famous shop in Dublin: an Eastern bazaar run from the top of a tower block by a beautiful Arab dressed in multi-coloured silks. I worried that the fancy goods on offer might be a front for more sinister trading activities.
The meal was a complete disaster. I should never have volunteered to bring food that I had cooked at my own house to JS’s flat to serve to my book group companions.
Somehow in transit the pork chop suey had toughened into a chewy, flavourless stew, and the little fruit puddings (admittedly found at the bottom of my mother’s fridge) were absolutely revolting. In addition it all took an age to serve – so much so that everyone else had finished and cleared the table by the time that I was ready to eat myself.
I visited Aberdeen as part of preparations for my job move at the start of the new academic year. Including other staff, AM introduced me to the departmental chickens. I looked forward to tending a coop of my own as part of my new three day a week contract.
We also discussed the latest rumour that virtually every prominent academic in our field had been tempted to take up posts in the granite city. Temporary accommodation would be in high demand, but I knew that I would always be welcome to lodge with VAE and CM.
Dreamaticus 