The singer at the staff awards party was a plump woman from HR. She sang well, but the audience paid more attention to her outfit than to her voice. She wore a gold mesh mini-dress that barely covered her scarlet underwear.
I went one better than her immediately afterwards – I stripped off completely to run home naked through the park.
I reached up for the book on the top shelf in my long-dead paternal grandmother’s kitchen.
‘I’m taking Granny’s diary for safe-keeping’, I told my mother.
We both knew that I would hide it from my sisters and cousins, and keep this family treasure all to myself.
JS left it too late to book the Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre for our monthly book group meeting.
We would have to make do with an inferior footwear pair: the two white woollen stockings decorated with beady eyes sewn on by my sister.
The desperation of the journalist was obvious when he started asking VAE and her sister to provide expert comment on every single topic to be covered in the radio news broadcast. In an attempt to fool his audience, he changed their names each time he needed a new live statement.
I soon had enough of this charade and left. Outside it was nightfall and the Northern Lights were playing across the bay. What a spectacle!
I told TPR everything when we met in the car park. He called me a fool for thinking that the tourist light show at the botanic garden was the Northern Lights. However, I couldn’t take his criticism seriously when he was dressed in a red bikini under a kaftan. He looked like a very bad version of his sister SMcC in drag.
The blood-stained rag doll hung from a peg in the women’s changing room. I knew that I should take it away and burn it, but feared capture on CCTV.
If I were recorded showing even the slightest interest in the victim’s discarded toy, there was a strong possibility that I would be arrested and taken into custody on suspicion of murder.
I plonked my PhD thesis on the top table, muttered an apology to Theresa May, and returned to my own seat.
Although she had a lot on her plate, I was confident that she would still have time to take good care of my magnificent tome.
Apparently I was on a mailing list for male escort services. Three potential ‘dates’ turned up at the conference and exhibition at which I was working.
I found the first two deeply unattractive. One of them was showing me his portfolio. He was particularly proud of a photo shoot in which he posed with a bear while riding a panther. They wanted to charge me £500. I didn’t have that kind of money. The third escort only had one leg, and was cheaper.
The short escalators appeared to lead up from the shopping centre to the grand entrance of the new, super-posh solid marble hotel. However, anyone who took stepped on to them discovered that they were fake, and stopped short of the anticipated destination.
It was all an elaborate ploy on the part of the hotel owners to give the impression of accessibility, yet – in reality – keep out the riff raff.
AJ persuaded me to take one of his yellow blow-up canoes and bounce downstream with the flow of the furious little river to the sea.
This was all well and good, but would I have the strength to paddle against the flow on the return journey? (And what if I had a puncture?)
It was quite an arrival as a huge chauffeur driven car took us through the hotel lobby and directly to the check-in desk. My father was impressed.
Later I met my youngest cousin P on a bridge. He told me he was learning to be a ‘bone engineer’ in Mexico.
Dreamaticus 