Curiously Darlington Road was in monochrome. Even the yob outside the wine shop who tried to accost me was a figure in black and white.
“This neighbourhood has definitely gone downhill since we all left”, I concluded.
Curiously Darlington Road was in monochrome. Even the yob outside the wine shop who tried to accost me was a figure in black and white.
“This neighbourhood has definitely gone downhill since we all left”, I concluded.
I was fined by a hotel in Houston for missing my check-out time. This was because I’d spent the morning travelling 200 miles by train to San Antonio to visit a potential conference venue.
I’d been complaining of TPR’s clumsiness for some time. Now he had managed to let a desktop PC, all the back-up disks for my novel-in-progress, and an old fashioned brick mobile telephone, fall from a third floor window and through a shop frontage across the road.
When he went to inspect the damage all TPR could find were the phone (intact) and a few shards of plastic. It looked like looters had already taken anything worth stealing.
When I suggested that he asked the shop for its CCTV footage TPR said that he couldn’t be bothered. He did not appreciate that my life’s work had been lost, and he bore all responsibility.
When I put on the long red fringed wig I looked just like my niece AF. If only I could snap a picture of myself to show everyone. Why had the IT guys taken the selfie feature off my iPhone?
I watched in horror as the huge lorry rolled backwards on the pavement outside Nando’s on Lothian Road, Edinburgh. That poor baby, who a couple of minutes ago was playing on the ground just out of the line of sight of its mother, would be squashed to a bloody pancake beneath the heavy wheels.
Miraculously the child survived! In celebration the mother and her friends performed a happy dance along the street.
TPR was applying a special technique to a photo of our nephew P and nieces B and F. The heat of his fingers changed the colours in the shot.
Meanwhile a sparrow landed on my face. I chased it away by biting it on the leg.
TPR and I lived in a cheap hotel with FMcL. Normally the breakfast was very basic. However, when a conference came to town the breakfast room transformed from a hall of residence style canteen to a 5 star restaurant.
I ran back to our dormitory to tell FMcL. I conveyed the important message to sit with the conference delegates (rather than the foreign tourists) as she climbed into the shower.
TPR and I travelled in two separate cars to the airport and our long-anticipated business class flights home.
As I wondered what to do about the bags of rubbish that I had accumulated on the front seat of my car I lost my concentration, took a wrong turn, and ended up heading away from the terminal. Before I had a chance to correct my mistake I was lost in small town USA without a hope of making our departure gate in time.
I stopped the car in a square and asked a couple of pedestrians if they could give me directions back to the airport. As I suspected, the route was in the direction opposite to the one that I had taken. A further problem was that my car was now surrounded by an armed American teenage gang. If the gunmen had their way, I would never leave town.
In her vast farmhouse kitchen (with two modified dishwashers and two fridges) my Cousin B (hair all coiffed) offered us each a chocolate mousse, plus a carton of double cream to share. As she headed out of the door to check into her Travelodge for the evening, I asked TPR where he would like to eat our puddings.
“In carriages 11 and 12”, he replied, meaning the nearby sitting room.
I went through to take a seat on the red sofa amongst the others who were due to attend the wedding later that evening. TPR did not follow, but ate his mousse at the kitchen table instead.
I was very upset that he had abandoned me. I punished him when he returned by refusing to speak to him – until he revealed that he had used our time apart to plan a holiday which included a weekend in Budapest.