Dreamaticus

I bumped into Davina McCall outside St Mary’s Cathedral on a buzzing Friday night in Edinburgh. She asked what I was up to just as my tall, handsome, fireman, pop star date, greeted me with a big kiss. I could tell that Davina was super-impressed that I appeared to be going out with someone so good-looking, young and famous. When I offered to introduce him to her she collapsed into a blush of giggles.

In fact my sixteen and three quarter year-old date was just a friend dressed up as Elvis for the evening. He and another young man had agreed to meet me and TPR for drinks at a pub beside the St James Shopping Centre. It was the case, however, that he’d found fame as a singer. His niche was cover versions of Squeeze tracks from the 1970s.

We waited for TPR in the pub until 9pm. I feared that he would not turn up, or that (more likely) he had gone to the wrong venue. We left our cosy table and set out to look for him in other bars at the top of Broughton Street. Sadly he was nowhere to be seen.

During our husband hunt we came across my school friends GB and JT. They were on their way to a fancy dress party, all dolled up in sparkly 1920s cocktail dresses. JT looked lovely, but GB just didn’t suit a dress. The problem was his legs. They simply looked peculiar in American tan tights under a pelmet of pale blue sequined chiffon.