It was a Monday morning and I was desperate for our weekend visitors to leave so that I could get to work.
My plans were thwarted by my sister-in-law SMcC who insisted on cycling to the outskirts of the city.
I followed her with AS in his borrowed silver open-top BMW. Our job was to tempt S back into town via Leith so that she and AS could gathering their belongings and set off home, and I could get to my office.
My 19 year old niece BMc had reverted to a six year old and begged me to take her swimming.
XY arrived at work in a foul mood. He huffily dumped his bag and coat in his office. Then he came out to find me in the corridor. He cast me a quick glance, then ran his hands up and down my stockinged legs.
‘That’s better’, he said, then wandered off.
Was I a victim of sexual harrassment at work, or was this just the price of peace? I sought the advice of AJ.
TPR and I started our journey on the open air rail system. Seated on the tiny trolley side-by-side we travelled at over 100 miles per hour along the track clutching our small stack of belongings (but not the soap bag, which I had accidentally left at home).
We transferred to our dark blue BMW part-way along the route. It came with a driver, and an additional passenger who took a keen interest in how much cash we were carrying. We failed to read the clues that these two characters were villains.
By the time we knew what was going on our car and cash had been stolen. We were stuck in the middle of nowhere impoverished and without transport.
‘What do you think?’ asked SL, nodding over to the queue of people showing the security guard their passes.
It was unclear whether she was referring to their ridiculous black goth-like outfits, or the idiotic antics of the guard who had abandoned his role of checking IDs for showing off pictures of his grandchildren on his iPhone.
It was neither. SL wanted my opinion of her new boyfriend. Tall, dark and handsome he was a very good looking man, but what a pity that he was a smoker.
David Schwimmer played my on-screen husband. He was Dr Mogul, the famous orthopedic surgeon. The pair of us were also married in real life.
I concluded that it was jealousy that drove a mob to chase the pair of us through a plush private hospital on the day of my back operation. I was in so much pain and had gone through the official channels to be admitted, yet everyone believed that I had used my position as Dr Mogul/David Schwimmer’s wife to jump the queue for treatment.
Dreamaticus 
Masters supervision without Margaret (Rousse)
When I came out of MR’s office I found a Chinese student waiting for me in the corridor. Once we had cleared up whether or not she was Margaret (she was not), I led her to the room that I shared with ST.
Someone had ‘decorated’ our office door with cut-outs of men and women, and with ransom note lettering that indicated that I had sexist male colleagues. We ignored this and joined AA and PC at the table in my room to go through the student’s draft MSc dissertation.
AA annoyed me by hopping from one random page to another and issuing unhelpful comments. I was also cross with the student for copying and pasting someone else’s contents list into her draft work. She thought that with just a few edits she could use this as her own. This, of course, was not acceptable.
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