I tracked GK down singing in a TV talent show, dark-haired (obviously from a bottle), bare-chested, and wearing bright yellow, high-waisted, flared trousers.
Although his body was in good shape, GK was clearly not as fit as TPR.
I lost control of my class completely. Instead of discussing the latest research in knowledge management, the students watched repeats of Match of the Day in class each Wednesday afternoon. There were some who objected to this – including PhD student LK – but they were powerless to win over the majority (who appeared to be happy to waste their education).
Eventually a South African student declared that he had had enough. He and two friends (one of whom was a football fan) took me on a road trip to the north of England. We ended up on Holy Island at Easter. The minister mistook us for pilgrims and invited us all to join the celebrations.
We floated in our shopping trolleys high above the river on a beautiful summer’s day. Then the old lady – my friend’s mother – jumped.
I knew that she didn’t stand a chance. Her neck broke the moment that her body reached the shallow water below.
I couldn’t fit into my office because it was overrun by PhD students and the keynote speaker of their forthcoming doctoral colloquium (AB).
Who was this small dark-haired, short-legged child with a Scottish accent living with the mother of my childhood friend ECM? She couldn’t possibly be ECM’s little sister: her mother had been widowed for years. A neighbour (and known fantasist) suggested that ECM’s brother M was the child’s father. This was also nonsensical.
I met ECM in Bath, where she explained to me what had happened. When she was employed by Sunderland Polytechnic there had been a series of redundancies. Two of her former colleagues could no longer afford to keep their daughter. ECM had stepped in and passed the child on to her mother for long-term care.
DMcA left the library having confessed that the book that he had just returned was ten years overdue.
Now it was my turn to be served. I hastily waved my library card over the machine reader. In doing so I accidentally paid DMcA’s outstanding fine of £10.
There was nothing that the library assistant could do to correct this. I should have waited until DMcA had been fully logged off the system before attempting to check my own borrower record.
I had forgotten all about my latest knitting project until I saw GB walk past the bus depot on Annandale Street.
I resolved get to work on the beanie hat that I had promised to knit for her birthday, and then make a start on a second one for NP.
Did anyone really care that at this bend in the single track road Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall, once lost a sash from her dress?
TPR and I were thoroughly sickened at the over-commercialisation of the Isle of Mull.