Jonathan Ross stood in my study and spoke with excitement of the prospect of buying a flat in Edinburgh. I suggested that he step away from the window to avoid the risk of drawing the attention of passers-by.
‘You must hate this aspect of celebrity life’ I sympathised.
‘On the contrary’ replied Ross, ‘I love it.’
We were going to the make the most of the peace of quiet on the last morning at our cosy rental cottage. However, rather than enjoying a lie-in as planned, we unexpectedly played host to a seemingly unending string of visitors.
Amongst those who called in to see us were P and SM. The pair of them were chain-smoking roll-ups with the excuse of a stressful few months due to the decline of SM’s father. AH also surprised me by (a) coming along without CS and (b) greeting me with a kiss full on the lips.
We were so preoccupied with our guests that it was 11:55 when we remembered our midday check-out time.
TPR issued us all with a National Museums of Scotland worksheet.
When I saw the set of questions on early passenger trains from the 1820s, I was convinced that I would win this quiz.
I walked the length of the main street of the pretty Northumbrian village. Where the stone cottages gave way to fields full of livestock, an animal leapt over the wooden fence and bounded towards me.
I struggled to identify the creature. The size of a donkey, it had the playfulness of a dog. I stroked and petted it, then we played fetch for a while. When I turned to retrace my steps and find my friends in the village café, I hoped that the donkey-dog would return to his field.
However, on realising that I was leaving him, the donkey-dog transformed into the Big Bad Wolf. I ran away as fast as I could, seeking refuge in the café. The donkey-dog pushed past the tables, chairs, and counter all the way to the toilet cubicle where I attempted to hide. It stood on its hind legs, popped its huge clawed paws over the top of the door, and glowered at me.
Where was the café proprietor? What about my friends? Why did nobody answer my screams for help?
In the time that I travelled up one floor in the hotel lift, I taught three stray dogs a range of impressive circus tricks.
Dressed only in my light white cotton nightie, I was locked out of my mother’s car at an agricultural show.
I looked like a sad ghost wandering past the pens of livestock and craft stalls in the vast field, hunting for the car keys.
David Tennant continued chattering even after I asked everyone, including him, to pay attention to my funny story.
That morning I had woken up, dressed, and made my way to work – all without checking the time. Campus wasn’t open at 6:15am so I to make my way home again across the boggy moorland, all by myself.
You might have thought that the famous actor would have been fascinated by my anecdote, or at least have the manners to feign interest.
Life would be a lot easier if I lodged with archeologist RJ at least one night a week in her shared flat in Newington. So we made an arrangement for me to start a trial run on Wednesday.
I bought my provisions – as far as I could – from an understocked supermarket just along the road, helped by JM who flung packs of processed cheese slices at me. All the packaging split as the cheese slices hit the aisle, but JM didn’t care. The supermarkets could afford the loss.
I soon realised that my new accommodation arrangement was not going to work. I hated sharing a bedroom and kitchen facilities, and I was furious when my Scarpa shoes went missing from the shoe rack at the front door. Someone had obviously clocked their value and stolen them, along with my £600 calf skin orthotics.
My holiday in a mystery European city was turning into a disaster. When I asked “where am I?” people thought I was joking and refused to answer. The road layout kept on changing, and the students who were hosting me were starting to get irritated by my phone calls asking them to find me and bring me back to their home.
At last it was time to return home. But I couldn’t remember if I was travelling by train or plane. I kept asking my hosts but they were distracted with “more important stuff”. By now I had lost my phone, my suitcase, had no money and was wandering the streets. Eventually, and completely accidentally, I found my way back to the apartment block, only to discover that everyone had been evicted and the building was being demolished. No wonder my hosts had been distracted – now we were all homeless.
Dreamaticus 