I raced across the Isle of Mull as fast as I could. I managed to intercept LR just as she was about to climb into a taxi, observed by O and R.
The car screeched to a halt, I leapt out, and ran over to my accomplice.
‘Put this on. Fast!’ I demanded, handing over a stocking mask.
I knew it was a huge risk for us to don our disguise in front of O and R. I prayed that they would turn a blind eye, and that the identity of the murderers of Mull would remain a mystery.
My research student and my husband joined forces to heave me over the edge of the bath and drown me.
When we returned from Aberdeen we remembered that we needed to pick up our end of term present from work. This comprised a brown paper bag that contained a Lochinver pie and enough ham and cheese rolls to last the first week of the vacation.
It was a long way to Craiglockhart to make the collection so instead we popped down to the theatre at the Pleasance. There the woman on the ticket desk handed over the bags. Meanwhile, not one to miss the opportunity of flirting, my companion entered into conversation with the man who was helping in the box office.
When I mentioned that I might have a complaint about the service, the woman told me that I could lodge it using WhatsApp. She was aghast when I told her that I didn’t use this messaging service. Indeed, she made a big fuss over her belief that it was the responsibility of people in jobs like mine to keep on top of every form of social media.
Tom Binns was in the pub enjoying a lunchtime drink with my colleague KC. I interrupted their conversation to invite Tom Binns to lunch with me during the Edinburgh Fringe. She (for Tom Binns is really a woman) was reluctant to accept my invitation.
‘I’m not that funny at the dinner table’, she confessed. ‘You must remember that Ian D Montfort is only an act.’
‘I don’t mind’, I replied. ‘I often meet up with Kev F Sutherland and I don’t expect him to deliver one-liners with every other utterance. If you like, we could compromise and just meet for a drink?’
I was about to leave when KC grabbed me and asked if I had made a decision on joining him on the Titanic for a trip to the Artic. I mumbled an excuse.
Then he queried my assessment of the work of one of his students.
‘Was it really that bad?’ he asked.
‘Appalling’, I replied, casting a glance at the marked-up script that he had pushed under my nose.
I also noticed that a second copy of the dissertation had been marked by DM, and he had come to the same conclusion as me. Despite this, KC said that he would still be recommending the student for a Masters degree.
After a long career in finance, TF was retraining as a waiter.
He practised his new skills in the pupils’ dining room at George Watson’s College, Edinburgh. His daughter K helped, serving water at the table from a chipped yellow glug jug.
Tigers roamed the street of the Australian seaside resort where my colleague and I were conducting some research.
‘Isn’t this rather dangerous?’ I asked a local.
‘No’, he replied, ‘It’s very rare that any of the tigers attack anyone’.
We took the local at his word and continued our walk along the lane – until one of the huge stripey beasts made a beeline for my colleague, chased him a few yards, took a chunk out of his foot, then sloped off to sunbathe under a tree. I half-carried the hobbling victim to the seafront where we sought medical attention. When the nurse asked for his name, I told her it was David, then corrected myself and settled on Ross (which was also wrong). Fortunately I knew enough about his medical background to fill in all the forms accurately.
I also needed some medical attention. My teeth were in a terrible state, probably because I had forgotten to pack a soap bag for our trip and hadn’t taken care of my personal hygiene for over a week. I broke into someone’s bathroom to check my teeth in the mirror (and perhaps ‘borrow’ some toothpaste) and was appalled at what I saw. My two front teeth were black and one was about to drop out of my mouth. When the occupants of the house came home from their long bus tour of the island I was more ashamed of my appearance than my status of housebreaker.
The one highlight of the trip (apart from spending time with my lovely colleague) was my discovery of a book-lined study built into the top of a sea stack, rather like Mangersta stone bothy on the Isle of Lewis. It was a pity that David/Ross missed the steps up to it and fell into the sea while attempting an ascent up the perilous sea stack rock face.
I left TPR tidying up the tiny downstairs study and ran upstairs to check on the water. Just through the door I saw XX lower his bulk into the bath.
‘That’s strange’, I thought, ‘Wasn’t he fast asleep on the sitting room floor just a few seconds ago?’
The students spent a couple of minutes trying to make sense of being stuck with me in a lift that travelled up and down a University of Edinburgh building in a random fashion.
‘The only explanation’, muttered one to the other, ‘is that we’re trapped in one of Rousse’s dreams’.
TPR and I jumped off the train at York to have a quick look round the shops. We didn’t make it back to the train before it set off again, but that didn’t matter because we had tickets that allowed you to break the journey.
Then I remembered that my MacBook Air was sitting screen-open on the table at my seat on the train. My only hope of retrieving it was to phone the passenger who had been sharing our table and ask him to look after my computer until we could catch up with it, and the rest of our belongings, in London.
Dreamaticus 