At first the news report gave the impression that there had been a terrorist attack at Heathrow Airport. In fact police had shot dead a terrorist infiltrator disguised as an airport security guard.
As was the tradition, my colleagues were in Glasgow staffing the National Museum of Scotland on 2nd January so that the museum staff could take an extra day off. Already there was trouble at the entrance. One of my colleagues claimed that BD was unqualified to act as doorman. I successfully argued his case, then headed down to the station.
There I found JC, who announced that her new year resolution was to take up smoking. NB and I were appalled. As JC lit up she explained that menthol cigarettes were essential to her new diet. I wondered whether dying her lovely brown hair an awful shade of pale ginger was also a requirement of this ridiculous regime.
I then turned to my own needs. I was desperate for a boyfriend. FR of Strathclyde University was supposedly fulfilling this role, but it was so long since I had seen him that I had actually forgotten what he looked like. When my retired colleague BC approached me for a new year kiss I didn’t recognise the grey-bearded swarthy man behind him. Somehow I did not think this relationship would work. Perhaps my only option now was to give in to PL?
Then I remembered that I was married to TPR and didn’t need I boyfriend after all. I set off along the riverside path to another, rural, railway station for the next train back to Edinburgh where I would find my husband.
Once again I was at an over-catered work event. Hardly anyone turned up, and loads of food was destined for the bin. I couldn’t bear the thought of such waste. So in front of those who had bothered to attend – including the head of engineering who was host – I started shamelessly piling canapés into my rucksack.
Then TPR came to collect me so that we could go shoe shopping next door.
The old lady fell backwards and hit the kerb with an almighty crack to the head. Her family ran to her aid and I called 999.
The laid-back operator on the end of the line wasn’t really that bothered about the urgency of the call and struggled to understand my explanation of our position in the park.
In some respects this did not matter. The old lady was already dead.
TPR dumped me. I should have guessed that something was afoot when he took to dying his hair black and driving a BMW.
Then he appeared to think that nothing had changed and we were back together again. But it had. I also didn’t believe him when he told me that the lights for his car were controlled by the reception staff at a computer manufacturer’s plant in Linlithgow.
It was the eve of the final of American Idol. Adam Lambert was backstage. For the very last time before he would be forced to give up his career as a hairdresser for singing and world-wide fame, he trimmed my golden tresses.
GB had struggled to find a couple of pals who were willing to walk all the way over the far hills to the remote beach so was delighted when she thought that KA and I could accompany her. I was so embarrassed that I would have to turn back at about 11:30 because I had a class to teach at 13:00 that I delayed telling her until the walk was well underway. By this time we had already crossed the paving stones laid by David and Ruth Archer, and accepted free samples of yesterday’s strawberries and cherries in cream from an Italian roadside restaurant. What made things worse was that KA was also so busy that she could only come out for the morning. GB would have to complete the walk on her own.
Back at work the colleague who accused me of a ‘butterfly mind’ seemed to be in a better mood. Perhaps the obvious weight loss had helped?
It was about 06:00am when I heard someone come in through the back door of the flat and make their way into the kitchen. I leapt out of bed, pulled on some pyjamas, and went to confront the burglars. What a brave woman I was!
In the kitchen I found TPR, just returned from a night out with his friends. I tried to interest him in my degree results – earlier in the day JC had shown me how to download marks for individual exams taken at the University of Birmingham in 1986, just as you could now do for Nottingham University – but his priority was to get to bed.
In desperation I waved the slip of paper at him and shouted ‘But you’ve got to see this. I’ve been waiting 29 years to find out how well I really did in each exam. I failed the first language paper really badly with a measly mark of 0.4%!’
Dreamaticus 