A scatty older friend had mislaid her glasses and scarf and I set off to retrieve them. What should have been a simple task was complicated by my unfamiliarity with this airport. Every escalator seemed to take me further away from where I started. As I travelled on yet another escalator, I met David Beckham. He was holding a clipboard. “Good morning, Belle”, he said. “Morning, DB”, I said.
I’d never felt so alive.
Miss P invited me to her garden rave and we all had a marvellous time dancing into the lilac-scented night. I was surprised that events were slowing down by 1.00am. The DJs were contractually required to stop playing music and be interviewed, Match of the Day style, for television. (“It was a team effort, but there was one drop I was so happy with, I’m glad it was me”.)
While waiting for a lift, I had to collect the monkey’s cage from the cloakroom and asked a child if the monkey would run off if I left it loose in the back of the taxi. He rolled his eyes at me. The stupidest question ever asked.
I wandered into the mustard yellow library and was overjoyed when Bob Monkhouse entered, wearing a midnight blue dinner jacket. Fiddling with his cuffs, he told me he was off to a late-night gig and he hoped people liked the material. “How could they not?” I asked. Meeting him was a highlight of my life.
A two-night stay at our favourite guest house was not long enough, but it was still time to leave. We cheered ourselves up with thoughts of our return visit in the summer.
We took the option of flying home at a low level over the river. We were always surprised that others did not adopt this practice. Although it was tiring on the arms, it was worth it for the view.
We took a break along the route for TPR to meet my school friend NC and discuss his time on the GB national swimming team (and geology).
I was over at RR’s flat helping out with a few things, including an open freezer door. TPR came along for the ride with his guitar and a couple of amps.
It was our last day before heading off on holiday and I suddenly realised that I needed to wash the pair of jeans that I was wearing. I asked RR if I could put them in his machine. He was happy with this, and suggested that I do a full load. I understood why: his washing basket was overflowing.
The next day we were on a black sand beach in the far north. It was a very grey day and everything was in monochrome, including the pack of greyhounds that ran down to the shore and the herd of elephants across the bay.
TPR noticed something floating in the water and swam in fully clothed (because it was cold) to fetch it. The mysterious object was a dead dog wrapped in a carpet off-cut.
Although TPR survived his dip in the icy sea, the camera around his neck did not. How were we going to tell RR that £100,000 worth of his personal photography equipment had been ruined?
I knew that my beautiful tall blonde wife was straying when she invested in a pile of new make-up from Boots and started spending hours in the gym.
When I first confronted her she denied any wrong-doing. Then she finally confessed that she was having an affair with Stuart.
Now I was really confused. We didn’t know anyone called Stuart.
There were four of us in a white boat under blue skies in the Firth of Forth. It was such a beautiful day! I looked up to Corstorphine Hill and wondered whether we could be seen from my old office.
Then the engine spluttered. D, who was in charge, case a worried glance at the distance to shore. Our day out on the sparkling waters was over.
LM and I were spending so much time in Glasgow (particularly the University library) that we decided to kit out our own flat in the city. We started the job with LM’s auction purchases.
Our other tasks included correcting the directional signs to EJT’s lecture, and working out why I had traded my iPhone in for an inferior Android mobile.
TPR was annoying me so I decided to hide from him – by levitating above the trees by the river bank.
Eventually I had to come down again, but he still couldn’t see me because by then it was dark.
Even when I finally revealed myself, he did not apologise for his behaviour.
Two enormous wrought iron gates guarded the two entrances to the White House. I pushed open the one to the right of the gravel drive and made my way to the front door.
Once inside I made my way to the drawing room, where I found my Uncle P. I noticed that the wallpaper had been replaced specially for Christmas. Would we keep the green and red themed paper up all year, I wondered? I asked where everyone else was. Cousins R and A were on their way. My sister J was in the kitchen.
At the back of the house J was struggling to cook Christmas lunch for twenty in the most primitive and cramped conditions.
I wandered off without so much as a brief goodbye to TPR.
When I reached the pond I hid the DAB radio so that I could swim across the water rather than take the longer route along the path. It was a lovely day for a dip, and even the pond weed did not bother me.
When I returned later to collect the radio from its hiding place I discovered that it had been stolen. The park ranger offered me another one from lost property, but it was smaller than mine and I knew that TPR would be able to tell the difference.
Dreamaticus 