I had been living in the Lewisham Tesco superstore for over 30 years and once again the roof in frozen foods was leaking.
At work I complained to my boss:
“Nothing makes me feel part of a team more than being referred to as ‘the adult female’.”
Later I invented ‘disco ballet’ which meant “people could enjoy the dancing without having to listen to that dreadful music.“
SC and I ‘picked up’ the Glasgow University academic just outside Queen Street station. Rather than catch our train back to Edinburgh, we followed him across town to his office, intrigued by an invitation to consult his exercise book. In the cheap thin-soled flat sandals that I had bought only a couple of hours earlier in a panic, I just about managed to keep up with his fast paced walk.
The exercise book was a battered, grease-stained relic of the 1970s. Most curious, however, was the handwriting on the first page. It was all mine, and included the full details of my childhood address.
There was no way of knowing how this former belonging of mine had made it into this stranger’s possession, nor why he had intercepted us at the station.
Coming home from an all-nighter, some American tourists at a bus stop asked “Rough night?”, to which I answered “Heck, yes. I’m going home for double Aspirin, double Paracetamol, and double vodka”.
They thought I was hilarious.
On the basis of the enthusiastic reports of the recent fabulous visit of my mother and sister J, I could not wait to return to the White House. I met the man in charge of the (now) old people’s home, and popped in and out of the bedrooms to meet the residents. At the end of my visit I checked out the new dining room where Hector’s House once stood.
Not long afterwards TPR and I moved into my parents’ old bedroom. We made the bathroom next door our own. It was important that it remained in its old shabby shape, just like the upstairs kitchen across the hall.
I estimated that the 10 stone that B planned to lose within twelve months was half her body weight. Given her track record with the scales, I very much doubted that she would ever achieve this, but I kindly kept this opinion to myself.
Instead I walked over to the easel at which her son T was making rapid brush strokes in green on a wide canvas. His work was very amateur, yet it was obvious that he would make a much more successful artist than his mother a dieter.
As the airplane taxied down the runway, the cabin crew announced the break-dancing competition. I was to go first. My performance was lacklustre, under-rehearsed and embarrassing. I received a smattering of applause.
Second to the stage was a young lad whose moves were smooth and energetic, who had brought his own DJ, and who also presented a Japanese fable in shadow puppet form on the walls of the plane. The plane rocked with applause.
Later on the same flight I met a group of librarians who didn’t refer to my humiliating dance-off. We chatted about what we planned to do in Boston.
I had a lot of questions. Who had bleached my hair badly? Why was I in Essex? Why was it suddenly Christmas Day? Why were all these young people partying in my grandmother’s house? How come Aunty V looked a young Joan Collins?
I ran out to the hairdressers to have my hair dyed again, and Mikey the sandwich maker welcomed me in. My hair was covered in dye and I was left alone for hours. When I went to find the hairdresser, the entire salon had become a new business and no-one knew who I was.
For consolation I went to the doughnut shop and bought a chocolate doughnut AND a custard doughnut and ate them at the counter. Then I looked up and there he was – Pierce Brosnan. We walked on the muddy foreshore and I complained about an abandoned plastic toy, but when I picked it up it transformed into a tiny cinema screen. It was magic – just like our love.
My sister S drove like a maniac along the Hebridean shoreline, skidding on seaweed and only narrowly avoiding the obstacles along the way – seals, children paddling, random tourists. From the back seat I screamed at her to slow down.
The next thing I knew, from the driver’s seat she was recording an item for the Radio 4 Today programme by mobile phone. As Evan Davies posed interview questions for the piece entitled ‘How bad was my week?’ she made numerous complaints about her backseat driver (me).
Dreamaticus 