I was on target to complete my first ever marathon – until the track was changed mid-race to include a climb over the Lammermuir Hills, and we were all subject to an enforced change of footwear.
I was never going to make it up that steep narrow path in white plimsolls with yellow slip-on Croc overshoes!
I stared at my nephew. How would his new employer take him seriously when he looked only 10 years old? He was so small and slight, and his voice hadn’t even broken.
Then we were joined by another person – my nephew again, but this time a teenager. How was this possible?
Then the 2019, grown-up version of my nephew made it a hat trick. I was so relieved. This was the one who would start the new job after the Christmas holidays.
I’d got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night when my ex boyfriend’s flatmate came in and asked me not to flush the toilet. Instead he sat on the toilet seat and asked if I thought he should invest in Winsor and Newton gold paint for the family portrait he was painting. The whole scenario was painfully awkward.
Later I was driving a car on an overpass and a car cut in front of me. Lulu stared at me from the back seat with fear in her eyes. I tried to shift to fourth gear and realised I had no idea where the gears were. The car broke down and I transferred to a racing bicycle. I stopped at an all-night sauna and chatted with three premier league footballers, one of whom was sitting in the steam room in full evening attire and smoking a cigar.
Now I knew why my cashmere jumpers were full of holes. The bottom drawer of my cupboard housed hundreds of wool-eating insects. The size of small crabs (complete with shells), they were happily munching their way through every item of knitwear in the house.
I was delighted to hear about a new charity shop on Edinburgh’s Castle Street, especially since it was rumoured to open at 07:00 each morning. That meant that I could visit it on my way into work!
So imagine my disappointment when I saw the hand-written note sellotaped to the glass front door: ‘Admission to poor people only’.
Although dead for over a year, my zombie father was still very much in our lives. One day, when in bed browsing old footage of family dining on an iPad, he froze a frame of himself scowling. Then he summoned two of his daughters – myself and the youngest one – to explain the scene.
We both knew that my father had been cross with me because I was complaining about the delay to dinner, and that the delay was caused by my sister who was so late getting out of bed.
However, in order not to cause any further stress, the pair of us wrapped our arms around each other to present a united front to our father, then persuaded him that the row was nothing more than a wee spot of sibling teasing.
The Netflix trailer came out of the blue and was causing quite a stir. “The Three-Day Nanny” had been filmed over years and featured Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II as she looked after each royal baby for three days, transforming the lives of their parents and the babies. It was part The Crown and part Mary Poppins.
I was transported on a massive ship and was met in ‘New York Harbour’ by my new FBI colleagues. In a gushing attempt to impress them I announced that my arms were completely hair-free. The agents challenged me to “prove it”. I rolled up my sleeve and was astonished to find my arm looked like an orangutan’s.
Later I lost my passport but was helped by the mini UK passport office set up behind the hotel’s reception desk. My first day at the Bureau was an unmitigated disaster.
Susan Calman was determined to make me her lover. Sadly for her, I wasn’t interested in her offer.
I tried to fight her off by telling her how much I admired her – ever since I first caught her show in a small venue at the Edinburgh Fringe many years earlier.
TPR set up a summer-long ‘book’ group and called it ‘Chad’. The participants ranged from his friends to a couple of my undergraduate students. Somehow JS had managed to inveigle herself into the men-only meeting.
Meanwhile I visited drab, rainy Disneyland. The only ride of any interest was a roller-coaster. Otherwise the ‘attractions’ simply didn’t deserve their label. When I started to feel the cold on my bare legs, I decided to turn back. This presented the opportunity to hunt for my lost handbag.
Along the way I found old University friend BN playing a woodwind instrument in a Disney orchestra. She’d spent so many years in Australia that her speech had lost all trace of her Croydon credentials.
Dreamaticus 