We travelled by grey marble chopping board to the north east of England. In Redcar I asked our driver (BC) two questions: (1) why were we going by way of the beach; and (2) wouldn’t a taxi be a better form of transport, especially if it were to rain?
BC replied that it was much easier to steer the chopping board over sand than it was on tarmac, and that she was certain that it wouldn’t rain because she had checked the weather forecast earlier in the day.
I hoped that all this cycling was helping me to lose weight. I’d seen a shocking video of myself in a mustard yellow shift dress over black leggings and did not the idea that kindly people had taken to describing me as ‘curvy’.
When we reached the small seaside town I propped the tandem up against the sea wall and we checked into the busy hotel. We could tell that its main business was coach parties from the clear labelling on the bedroom doors. Each room had a different number according to tour company and bus service.
The hotel was swarming with wedding parties and traders out to make money from hotel guests and tourists. Amongst them a man and a woman were approaching people with an offer to take their portraits, then snapping them on their mobile phones for 50p a shot. I also overheard an young Indian woman explain to someone that she and her companion weren’t Indian at all, but Ghanaian.
By the time that TPR went back outside to check on the tandem the tide had come in and swept away our bike! TPR was distraught to find a couple of wheels floating in the water. Then I pointed out that the wheels were green and that I had parked the bike on the car park side of the wall. It was safe after all.
I sat next to Colin in the reading room of the library. I had thought he was my niece AF’s boyfriend, but then remembered that she was going out with DL. Perhaps Colin was her ex?
Whatever his status, I didn’t think much of Colin’s history essay. The opening line reminded me of TPR’s ‘You may or not be aware…’ response to a physics question in 1982.
I asked if I could take control of this laptop keyboard to at least fix the introduction.
The Californian sunshine lifted my spirits so high that I was convinced that it was unnecessary to padlock my brand new bike outside Queen Margaret University. Of course, when I came back out of the building, my bike was gone.
Now I had to call TPR from a rickety public telephone to confess my stupidity.
I elected to sleep in the static caravan, along with the students. However, I had hoped that I would still be allowed to use the bathroom in the house. When the students told me that they used the caravan shower, or the one on the lorry outside, I felt obliged to do the same.
It would be a lot easier when we travelled south to the conference venue. There everyone was staying in the same hotel. The only way to differentiate between the status of delegates would be the ribbons on the lanyards around our necks.
Back in the caravan, the students were surprised at the frequency with which I suggested that I make them pasta carbonara for their supper.
The monkeys and kangaroos that recently escaped from Edinburgh Zoo have colonised vast swathes of the Scottish Highlands.
I admired ET as she served everyone in the dining room single-handed. This was a feat in itself, but she did it with so much grace, without a hint that she would consider this demeaning work for someone of her academic standing.
I was, however, intrigued at the thickness of her ankles.
Dreamaticus 