Fed up with the rest of my family, TPR announced that he was leaving me. Worst still, he already had another woman lined up to take my place: silly super-skinny curly blonde JR.
I was now on track to be a lonely and pitied abandoned wife, and he would be the laughing stock of all my girlfriends.
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Tagged blonde, curly, girlfriend, husband, love, pity, rival, skinny, TPR, unfaithful, wife, woman
I couldn’t reach the department at the University of Sheffield because they had made no provision for anyone who suffered from claustrophobia when designing the entrance to the building. I told PC that I was far too frightened to squeeze myself through the tiny stone opening.
One of the librarians came to my rescue. She explained that I had not ventured far enough into the lobby. Once there, I could see a perfectly ordinary door frame and door. It was no bother at all to enter the department.
AM, looking well and smartly dressed in a pink wool coat, ambushed me the moment I put my foot over the threshold. It was a great, though unexpected, surprise to see her in Sheffield.
After the gun battle I followed the secret service guy down the central aisle of the tube train. I was determined to get in on the action. By the time we reached the front carriage we were actually passengers in a Volkswagen Beetle driving down a leafy suburban road. Despite noticing our speed, a selfish resident started to reverse out of his driveway. Everyone in the car shouted “Get him!”, and our driver accelerated and smashed right through him. We all cheered heartily.
Coronation Street, the soap opera, got 0% in the national biology exam. It was front-page news in the tabloids and the broadsheets and sparked a national debate about how stupid TV was.
My colleague was so talented that she could compose poetry on the spot for any occasion – or so we all thought.
One day when we were in ladies, she passed a poem to me under the partition between our two cubicles. Contained within the verse was a complaint about my toilet habits. I couldn’t believe that she could have composed this text so rapidly, so I quickly committed another lavatorial ‘crime’, just to test her.
Sure enough, another poem was produced in an instant. Nobody could write as fast as this. I could only conclude that our so-called ‘poet’ was downloading each poem from a database in the Cloud.
There were two routes down the mountain. One was a winding, rocky path. The other was more of a short cut across a steep boulder field. I decided to take my chances with the latter. After just a few paces I was stranded, too frightened to go any further, too weak to climb back up.
I shouted to the others below that I needed help. CM (despite his gammy leg) was the one who came to the rescue. He was so shocked by my predicament, however, that he needed a cigarette to calm himself. Unable to save me on his own, he sent for reinforcements. Meanwhile I clung on to the rocks for my dear life.
Then I noticed a white-painted metal ladder built into the rock-face. This was my route to freedom. I clambered up the rungs to my rescuer. Then the pair of us picked our way back down to sea level via the winding rocky path.
My mountain adventure delayed my arrival at Queen Margaret University to see TMcE perform in his latest play. I hoped that they would let me into the auditorium, even though I was embarrassingly late.
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Tagged adventure, audience, auditorium, boulder, climb, ladder, leg, mountain, path, play, Queen Margaret University, rescue, rock
The starting point for access to the path up the mountain was under a door of a Glasgow museum. From here you accessed a tunnel. This eventually emerged in the open air on a steep mountain track.
I had forgotten my coat. So, while TPR man-handled my mother up the slope, I reversed the route back down to the museum.
Annoyingly, I took a wrong turn in the tunnel. After squeezing back under the door, I found myself in an unfamiliar exhibition room in the ‘wrong’ museum.
I would be stuck here forever. Meanwhile poor TPR would be stranded up the mountain with my mother.