My new job was to take care of injured professional footballers. I lay beside them in the stands during matches, falling in love with each in turn.
Of course, none of them felt the same about me. However, a tall sandy haired one did once tell me his name.
When I saw the ‘luxurious’ single beds behind the curtain, I wished that I had selected this option for the night rather than the shallow soil grave in the main section.
I further regretted my accommodation choice when my former neighbour threw several random backpacks, a knife, some peas, and a couple of carrots into my bedding area to clear some space around her own. When I called her lazy, she burst into tears then told me that she had slept with TPR. ‘Hasn’t everyone?’ I retorted.
Out in the field, I bumped into my ex-colleague JB, who had just run a 5k race. I also took a phone call from a comedian. He told me that he had cancelled his show for the following afternoon because I was the only person who had bought a ticket.
On my way home I rescued a black puppy and donated it to a grateful elderly couple.
I had made it to Oxford University! I couldn’t remember how this had happened – or what I was ‘reading’ – or why I had travelled back in time to the 1890s, or when I had become a 20-year old man. I was, however, very much enjoying my ground floor room with a lovely view over the green grass of what I later understood was called a ‘quad’
My American friend JG bought the old mews building a long time before I moved to Edinburgh. I did see her there once with her sister A – but only because I had mastered time travel. My sudden appearance rather took her by surprise, as did my parting words ‘I’ll see you on Facebook’. In her time this social networking platform had not yet been invented.
Now in the present, with my cousins R and A, I paid a visit to the mews and the surrounding land. Using Google maps in layers format, I traced our route there from the (old) St James Centre. My cousins just wanted to see the conversion of the stabling into self-catering apartments, whereas I was keen to photograph the new born lambs in the field and email the pictures to JG.
I had heard that the landowner was a rather nasty character, but hadn’t appreciated that he kept dangerous dogs. The moment that I stepped into the field to snap some shots of the straggly-looking lambs, a pack of dogs raced towards me.
A large brown Labrador-Alsatian reached me first, clamping my right arm in its jaws. The pain was horrific, and just made worse when I tried to shake off the animal. I only managed to free myself when the landowner’s grandmother called the dog away.
When SO’N walked into the shop, the man on the counter shot me a worried glance.
In his hand he was holding the fountain pen that would give away SO’N’s wife L’s affair.
It was now my responsibility to get SO’N out of the premises before he clocked the offending item.
VAE stood up from her pew seat, marched over to the speaker, and admonished him in front of the whole congregation:
‘This is a wedding of a couple very much in love. It is customary to speak about them during the service. We do not want to hear any more about your antics at Oxford with your pal BP (who, by the way, didn’t even go to Oxford. BP is a graduate of the University of Edinburgh)’.
Taking advantage of the coincidental timing of the Edinburgh Festival and Paris Olympics, the hotel proprietor organised pre-dinner entertainment for his guests.
First, a troupe of barely dressed dancing girls weaved their way between the dining room tables. Then a line of miniature Koreans in red costumes high-kicked around the perimeter of the room.
As the performers were preparing for a second round, I asked the dancing girls if I could photograph them. They refused outright. I could only conclude that they were moonlighting.
‘Even my vegetarian ex-wife likes it’, boasted my former neighbour AS as he showed me the dead seal that he had just shot and skinned.
My sister-in-law SG led us along the drive to the new house.
‘This is the piece of land that caused us so much hassle with the National Trust’ she explained.
We entered the house through the side door. The first room was not a porch as expected, but a lavatory. The door at the other side led straight into a tiny old-fashioned kitchen. ‘Oh dear’, I thought, ‘Why have they invested all their savings in this dump?’
Everyone else squeezed out of the kitchen and past a sofa squashed against the wall to reach the small dining room. A panic attack suddenly overcame me. SG’s husband A grabbed me by the shoulders and laid me down on the floor.
When I recovered, I made way my through the dining room and into the sitting room. En route I passed SG’s cleaner, nanny, and handyman eating their lunch at the dining room table.
The sitting room was the only one in the house that made any sense. It was a good size with huge windows that looked out to a beautiful corner garden and the mountains beyond. Now I finally saw the attraction of the property.
Then I noticed that my sister J was also in our party. But where was our mother? Wasn’t J supposed to be looking after her?
‘I left her in Merchiston’ she confessed.
That reminded me that I needed to catch a bus to Biggar. As I made my way to the bus stop, I saw my confused mother on the other side of the road looking as if she was trying to spot a bus that would take her into town.
How on earth would our mother manage on her own? My sister J was so neglectful.
Christmas was suddenly upon us and we had made no preparations whatsoever by the assumed date of our drinks party. Our friends piled round to the house regardless, many early in the day with suitcases expecting to be accommodated overnight.
So now we had a catering crisis on our hands. Would the butcher supply cocktail sausages at such short notice? Did we have enough supplies in the kitchen cupboards to make mince pies and mini quiches? What about the party playlist? What were we to do about the state of the house in general, including the cobwebs on the landing?
I offered to run along the road to the butcher, our guests argued that we should use ready-made pastry, and MC said that he would sort out the music. I would also deal with the housework.
In the meantime I needed to shift the Christmas choir that had taken up residence in our hall.
Dreamaticus 