I spent the working day at my portable desk on pavement on the north side of Princes Street. It had a convenient storage slot where I kept a big supply of bottled water.
One Friday a bunch of ruffians offered me ‘something to help celebrate the weekend’. I took one look at their supply of tablets and screamed at their insensitivity. Then TPR leapt into action and chased them away.
I kept my promise and arrived at the French Registry office at 3pm on 11th July as agreed. A did the same.
‘Do you really want to go through with this?’ he asked.
‘Of course not’, I replied. (I couldn’t stand this man. In any case I was already married, as was he.)
We turned to the registrar and made our apologies. The wedding was off.
The only person to be disappointed was P. He had laid a bet of £10 that I would go through with the ceremony.
The F family painted a pink mural which stretched across the whole length of their kitchen wall.
I wasn’t ready when TF met me to share a taxi to the airport. I hadn’t even ordered a car.
TPR volunteered to take us in the electric blue super-charged Rover. He was, however, concerned about the timescales – especially since TF said that there were other people to collect.
By clearing the landing at the White House a lot of extra space was made available. My mother told me that a new room would be built there.
I begged for this to be a bedroom for me. I was sick of sharing with my sisters. I discovered (with grave disappointment) that it was going to be a study instead.
The old lady’s handwriting said it all. She’d forgotten my name, but since we were such good friends online she wanted me to give me her precious heirlooms. These included a locket that contained an ancient black and white photograph of her parents.
I was surprised that BC, who actually knew GG in person, had not pointed out the folly of sending personal treasures to a near-stranger.
The venue for the course was the sitting room of my (dead) grandmother’s house in Corbridge. It was exactly as it was the last time that I had last visited it in the 1980s. The brown curtains still hung at the window, the ornaments above the television had not moved, and the photographs of me, my sisters, and our cousins were still fixed to the walls. I decided to take away some of the more precious artefacts such as the nineteenth century cameos and gold jewellery. I left behind the freemason’s rings embedded in the wall.
The syllabus of the course was unclear, but I did enjoy the skateboarding. It was so much easier than I remembered it. Apparently this was due to the new independent back wheel mechanism. It felt like I was hover-boarding as I moved along.
WB was also on the course. She led some of the other participants in the baking of popsicle cakes. I missed the opportunity to photograph them when the birthday candles were added.
There were a couple of unexpected course participants. MS had taken the decision to ‘just call in’ and an escaped mental hospital patient chased me along the street outside as I was waving a couple off home again after their full day of training.
I greedily worked my way through a delicious breakfast of scrambled eggs prepared for me by TPR. He took me by surprise when he told me that next we were going on a long run. Shouldn’t we have saved the feast until after our exercise?
It had been a while since I had seen SL, and rather unnerving to find her wearing a pale blue 1980s vintage cotton dress.
Dreamaticus 