Dreamaticus

I remembered that I had not been able to find a large enough space to leave my white Rolls Royce in the car park next to the river. Now I had also forgotten where I had eventually left it.

Nevertheless, I offered EH a lift back to Stockton as we sneaked out of an under-attended Friday afternoon meeting of the professoriate on campus. (We reckoned that if the person who called the meeting was away house-hunting in Cornwall, we had every right to bunk off too.)

Out in the dark street in the drizzle, EH and I considered our options for tracking down the car. The strategy that worked was to point the television remote control skywards. The Rolls Royce came spinning through the heavens to earth just like Dr Who’s Tardis. Unfortunately a battalion of angry Daleks was following closely behind.