The female passenger sitting next to me on the flight followed my example of leaving the aircraft and taking to the skies. We flew over beautiful (and normally inaccessible) Hebridean beaches. The biggest thrill was to soar higher than the birds.
This was so much more fun than taking a cramped transatlantic flight to Canada.
When I heard that both my sisters were pregnant I vowed that I would never again spend Christmas at my parents’ house – at least not before the children had grown up.
The SEB was back, again making unforgivable remarks about so-called friends. This time she declared LG’s husband ‘a puppy’. I left her to scale a wood-panelled wall alone.
My decision to take the longer route was driven by my desire to spend as little time as possible in the company of this toxic woman.
Lord Alan Sugar was the father of the boy. I might have been his mother, and possibly also Lord Sugar’s wife, but I could not be certain. Whatever my status in the household, I took it upon myself to entertain the young lad.
He was delighted when I suggested that he hand-sew a tote bag in which to keep his teddy, and couldn’t wait for the trip to Edinburgh’s Fabric Focus to find some suitable material.
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.
Dreamaticus 