I was appalled at the contents of my sister’s handbag. It was stuffed with sweets and chocolates, from Werther’s originals to a type of Walnut Whip crossed with a Cadbury’s Creme egg that I had never encountered before.
My sister suggested that I offered this big chocolate treat to the Jewish Hungarian girl with the Manchester accent who was perched on the back of her bike. My sister was this child’s babysitter for the whole summer holiday.
I chased after Marcus Brigstocke on my bike to tell him how much I liked him.
‘Why do you think that is?’ he asked.
‘Because we are demographically very similar?’ I suggested.
(It would have been rather rude to mention my interest in his private life.)
I was taking TPR on a tour of my work haunts. In Brighton I had planned dinner at Bill’s Restaurant. However, when we met JS in the street and she told us that NY worked nearby we changed our plans.
JS also told me that she hoped that AR had done well enough in her A levels to win a place at Liverpool John Moores University to study Applied Consumer Studies.
NY worked in the basement of a castle. The wood of his office door was so thick that he couldn’t hear our knocking. Fortunately the Principal, whose office was next door, could hear us. She came out to make us feel welcome.
We then all went for a Computer Services hosted afternoon tea of scones and Tunnocks tea cakes. We didn’t make it to the restaurant after all.
By the time Granny H and I reached Buckingham Palace to interview the Queen my feet were terribly blistered from wearing the pale blue shoes. TPR had borrowed them a couple of days earlier to wear to DT’s party and had stretched them. Now they rubbed mercilessly against my tender skin.
I considered popping into a shoe shop at the top of the Mall to buy more suitable footwear, but Granny H said that we did not have time to do so. Our appointment at the palace was for 12:15 and it was already 12:10.
The palace itself was surprisingly busy. When I learnt that the royal family was now renting out rooms for office space I understood why there were long queues at the various security check-points. We almost mistakenly ended up in the line for the Belgian Consulate.
At the last security gate the official considered my letter of invitation and the interview questions that we had prepared. She gave us the code for the lift and waved us through. All we needed now was someone tall enough to reach up to the button for the second floor and our audience with the Queen could begin.
AC/DC were playing in China. Since I was there on a work trip I decided to go along to the concert.
BP made a block booking of tickets and organised for us to reach the venue by coach (which I almost missed because I thought I had lost my purse and iPhone when they were, in fact, safely stored in a red mesh bag).
I couldn’t find anyone willing to visit the tourist attractions with me after the show. The sweet girl on hotel reception wasn’t interested, nor was my colleague RK, who had seen everything the day before.
My father didn’t intend any harm, but when he drove into PH from behind as a joke the old man fell directly on his nose and suffered much pain. I knew that it was my job to help him now, and to organise all his care arrangements from now on.
We were taking a look around the catholic cathedral where we unexpectedly bumped into NS. He slipped his arm around me and steered a course past the amazing architecture of the building.
Afterwards we joined the rest of the Edinburgh Coffee Morning boys, all wearing animal masks, practising for KJ’s stag weekend on the Mediterranean island of Lancoste.
My sister, brother-in-law, nephew, niece and I were all travelling to the Isle of Lewis. The new ferry service was hopeless.
My sister made the journey even more miserable for me by refusing access to a change of clothes and my computer.
Then I fell overboard into the water and nearly drowned.
We cycled round and round the Leith roundabout, two of us sharing the bike. We discussed the dilemmas of parenthood for the single woman. For example, it is better to foster then adopt? Or should one return the fostered children to social services in the hope of finding a man to marry and then have children of one’s own? I favoured the former strategy because it gives the children a loving home. I also thought it deceitful to marry a man solely on the basis that he could provide you with a family.
We suspected that our roundabout circling would attract the attention of Forth FM DJs whose offices looked out onto the street. It did not.
After our deliberations we came off the roundabout and set off to hunt for Christopher Biggins, who worked in a nearby office. All we found, however, was a gathering of Edinburgh’s top techies, including (of course) JM.
TPR and I struggled to find privacy anyway. There were even passengers queuing for ferries in my bedroom at the White House.
I walked into the upstairs kitchen where I found my shrunken sister. At under 5 foot in height and weighing less than 7 stone, JMH was tiny. She looked fabulous to me, even though she was ill.
Dreamaticus 