My family was driving me nuts so I took off in my car to the Borders as a form of escape.
When it was time to return to Edinburgh I regretted the distance that I had driven. It was such a long way back again!
But then I remembered that I was dreaming, so I called up a green magic carpet and flew home over the hills in style.
TPR drove me to the networking event as soon as I finished my baking. This one was even posher than the last, held in the river-side home of the regular sponsors. They had put on the most magnificent spread and invited what appeared to be the entire digital media community.
I’d barely made it through the door when the daughter of the hosts approached me and said that her parents needed to speak to me urgently. She told me that they would no longer invite me along to these gatherings unless I agreed to stop organising “competing” events in London. I racked my brains to try and work out which events they meant. It was a long time since I had organised anything in London, and that was a one-day conference for librarians, i.e. nothing to do with digital media.
I concluded that they were just making things up to get rid of me. Perhaps the real reason that they didn’t want me there was that I had turned up still wearing my flour-caked apron?
The kitchen in our new flat was vast. I was going to enjoy cooking here. All that it needed was a granite worktop to be fitted over the units and appliances, and it would be perfect.
I was also looking forward to setting up a rota so that CT, the other girl, and I would cook for one another each day. Then CT told me that she preferred to eat out. When I looked in her cupboard and saw a mountain of tinned food, I also started to doubt her culinary skills.
At 3pm I joined a meeting of colleagues in the School of Engineering. I never realised before just how many there were of them: hundreds! When it came to my turn to speak it was hard work to shout above the din, but I eventually got the message out that I was going to give updates on Athena SWAN, and on the PhD students. They gave me enough time to explain that the Athena SWAN submission work was on target – indeed they responded to this news with a loud cheer – and then left the hall in droves. Nobody was interested in the detail of my announcement, nor in the welfare of students at all.
Later that day I saw a few of the same faces when interviewing two applicants for PhD studentships together. The interview was also abandoned. This was largely because both candidates admitted that their first degrees didn’t qualify them for our PhD programme, so left the room half way through the questioning to smoke cigars in the corridor.
I struggled to stay upright as I walked down a dusty cobbled street with P and S. Where on earth were we heading?
Dame Judi Dench and I soon made friends in the hotel bedroom that we shared on holiday.
Afterwards I met DT in the new Student Association building. Created on a massive scale, it rivalled the Edinburgh International Conference Centre in size. I couldn’t imagine how much it had cost to install all that marble. We both fitted in well in our ballgowns. I was especially pleased to be wearing a burgundy Laura Ashley dress from the early 1990s, delighted that it still fitted me.
We soon spotted the Student Association president and J (in a smart suit), who had come to collect us. Before we set off on the 15-minute journey home by car, I excused myself to pop to the loo. The ladies’ toilets were in the basement at the foot of a very long marble staircase. The steps themselves were wide and shallow, and I found that the best way to navigate them was to hold the hand of a long-haired stranger.
By the time I got back upstairs J had left to spend his Saturday evening “in isolation”. DT and I climbed into the car with the student association president and admired the beautiful scenery along the way on the journey home.
I was standing on the top floor of the office, eating the delicious contents of a jar of ‘pink apple jelly’ with a spoon. I only stopped to admire the old-fashioned lettering on the label – ‘Ariadne – the State Apple of Virginia’.
Nearby a telephone rang – I was late back from lunch and the new boss wanted to know why I wasn’t attending the ‘getting to know you’ party. Leaning over the balcony I could see the party spread out below. Rather than take the stairs, I used the drapes to abseil down five floors. Landing by the buffet I saw there was only one choice of hot apple – Granny Smiths. Immediately I realised that I was far superior to my new boss, who had such an unsophisticated taste in apples.
The general public was using our glass-fronted flat as a thoroughfare to the Omni Centre. It was impossible to stop them, despite my pleas of “You wouldn’t have me wandering around uninvited in your kitchen, would you?” Some young men were especially annoying when they trained their camera lenses through the window onto TPR as he got out of bed in the morning. Surely they could find a better way to entertain themselves?
I took my complaints to VC in his new office at Valvona and Crolla. Unfortunately he was not there to receive them.
Malcolm McLaren seemed somewhat out of place at a conference on women in science, technology, engineering and mathematics, especially while wearing an eye patch.
Then someone pointed out that this was a degree show and I accepted that this (perhaps) explained his presence.
As we wandered along the country lane my impoverished companion was complaining that nobody ever invited her out on a date. Then we heard the noise of a tractor approaching us from behind and pulled into the hedgerow to let it pass. However, it wasn’t a tractor at all, but two Lomaxes, one of which was pulled by DMcL.
When we reached the house we found TPR at the kitchen table feeding acetates through a reader. These displayed screenshots of TPR’s new favourite daytime television programme. The whole concept of the show was based around fish. Members of the public were invited to the studio to classify fish according to nationality. Then, if they felt hungry, they were offered the option of eating the fish afterwards.
Dreamaticus 