Having spotted insolence in the student’s work I called him from the classroom out into the corridor to ask him to explain himself.
He excused himself on the grounds of stress: his fitness business had failed in the US, he’d turned to drugs and drink for consolation, his girlfriend had left him, and now he was sleeping rough in the public library.
A new trendy all-night members’ club had opened around the corner in Deptford. I went to view the facilities.
Although I was only a guest, this didn’t stop me from shouting very loudly at a drunken, noisy woman. I put my head round a door and saw people sitting in individual steam baths. Then a large man, made entirely of wood and wearing a burgundy cardigan, ran past me down the stairs, pushing me out of the way.
I managed to keep the baby alive with the minimum of care. I only looked at it once a day when I fed it a bottle and changed its nappy. The only indication that it was in any distress was that its right eye had started to bleed.
I was looking forward to giving up my duties when the French family returned to collect the child.
At (yet another) University reunion JS told me that practised an hour of yoga every morning, even at weekends.
The front door of our flat was boarded up, and through the windows you could just see that all our belongings had been removed. So it was true. We were moving out of town into an old farm house, the inside of which we had never seen.
The particulars said that the house was in good decorative order, and it did look nice from the photograph, but I worried about the proximity of fields and agricultural smells.
When TPR got lost driving to our new place, insisting that the only way to reach it was to dump the car and walk across a hay field, I very much regretted leaving the city centre.
WB showed off her new living quarters: a small but beautifully furnished bedroom complete with a square IKEA daybed and a huge picture window that looked straight out onto the loch.
So what if it was remote? WB would be very happy here.
My girlfriend and I beat a path through the remote African jungle. We had no idea of how we would ever find our way back to safety again, but we were grateful to discover a sheltered spot under some ancient trees where we could set up a temporary home.
When we spotted a lone figure approaching our camp we rejoiced. However, it was rape rather than rescue that was on the agenda.
Luckily for us the mobile dental service passed before the threats became reality. Our would-be assailant was packed up in the van and carried away for treatment.
‘And this is why we need Sunday opening too’ said the librarian as she led us through the main reading room of the National Library of Scotland (recently refurbished with lovely new blue chairs).
I glanced over and understood her message when I saw a six foot tall tower of books balancing in the middle of a highly-polished mahogany table. Some poor student was attempting to get through all this material in a single day due to the library’s restricted opening hours.
TPR and I and some friends invested in a buy-to-let flat.
One of our co-investors took the lead on the renovations and started by dismantling the navy blue bath. We chose the wallpaper (in the event too expensive for a tiny flat to be offered to students) and helped move furniture (including a mattress that we picked up on the street).
Then I volunteered to tidy up the sticky kitchen. It must have been fitted by someone very tall because I could barely reach the sink to do the washing up.
I also kept an eye on the cooking. I was rather suspicious of the potato and pea dish. It looked like it had been poisoned with washing up liquid.
Dreamaticus 