I found GG’s young son naked on the floor outside the bathroom door.
‘I’m desperate’, he said, ‘But JB is in there with medical staff and they won’t let me in’.
I scooped him up and carried him out of the back door. I deposited him on the patio and instructed him ‘You’ll just have to go here instead’.
TPR and I travelled to Manchester by ski lift for him to come out of retirement and take on a short-term consultancy project. It was very odd to see him dressed in a suit once more.
I couldn’t believe my luck that this tall (6’7″) dark, handsome man in his twenties was in love with me. The only issue was his refusal to make our relationship public.
We drove all the way to Manchester with CM’s dog P trapped underneath the car.
TPR was so busy on arrival setting up business deals (in his suit) that he completely forgot about the dog for a further 24 hours. I reported this to JC, who was appalled (as was her husband GC and their Asian lodger/driver).
It was SL who eventually rescued the poor pooch. Our first priority was to find a tin of dog food and a can opener so that we could feed her.
I was pretty sure that TDX had undergone cosmetic surgery. Her front teeth were now a set of neat white pearls set in gummy pink plastic. I also harboured suspicions regarding her lips.
I left with AJ. She seemed rather agitated. In the lift I declared my love for her. This didn’t seem to solve her dilemma: to support me or to support Norman.
We were temporarily distracted by the sound of TPR’s loud voice. He was declaring his affection for the Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre in a radio interview with the BBC.
The flat was very similar to the one that TPR and I shared when we first moved here. It was strange to think that we once fitted all our belongings into such a small space.
Then I saw all the left-over food in the corner. TPR and I immediately embarked on identifying the goodies that we could take home with us. There were chicken sandwiches, ham sandwiches, salads, and sushi. The chive stems filled with cream cheese were particularly tempting.
GSX followed us up the staircase in baby blue ankle boots.
‘What about your injury?’ I asked.
‘It’s fine’, she replied, ‘It doesn’t hurt at all’.
We knew that we had come to the right place when we saw all the primary school children dressed in hand-knitted jumpers. They were modelling their own creations in the hope that they could sell surplus stock at their stall.
Dreamaticus 