My colleague, who until very recently had been very friendly, barely acknowledged me when I asked for help in zipping up my multi-coloured chiffon dress. I questioned her coldness.
“You know perfectly well why we are no longer friends”, she replied. “How could you forget what we did with my aunt?”
I hung my head in shame at the memory, then vowed to forget it as soon as I could. Under no circumstances should TPR ever learn this dreadful secret.
Given that this was a networking event for the tech community, NP’s stall looked very amateur. Or perhaps she was being ironic as she pinned the home-decorated bedsheet up behind her table? If so, would anyone get the joke? I certainly wouldn’t contract her to set up my web site.
I spent most of my time at the event hunting for contacts who had connections with the Edinburgh mental health community (RA, CO) so that I could introduce them to JS.
Although I considered it a complete waste of time, I politely ploughed my way through CT’s Maths for engineers workbook. I told her that my favourite problem concerned household energy efficiency, the solution to which was to close the nursery.
DJ was showing off his latest purchase: an invisible car. Along with everyone else I admired it greatly, even though I couldn’t see it.
More impressive was the Soviet style statue across the bay. It was the size of a New York skyscraper – and visible.
Belle flicked through the laminated pages of a brochure that advertised Starlight Express on ice.
“Would you like to come?” she suggested wickedly, in full knowledge that I detested such nonsense.
I did not respond, but instead left her to her planning and returned to the company of TPR and my brother-in-law R.
I flopped into the water from the side of the canal, my enormous belly hitting the surface with a huge splash. TPR followed me, his sleek black form more elegant than mine. I arched my body to give enough momentum for a push upstream, then put my flippers into action. I was so much more graceful in the water. Such was the lot of a ginger seal.
My hula hoop had been stolen by the staff of the Virgin Active gym. I planned a raid to retrieve it. The most difficult task was to identify which hula hoop was mine from the pile on the mat.
It was only when I climbed aboard the bus that I realised that I had forgotten to check whether I had change for my fare. I explained this to the super-friendly driver as I rooted around in my purse for three fifty-pence pieces.
I put my papers down to the left of the money slot and they disappeared down the document chute.
“I need those back urgently!” I shrieked at the driver.
“That’s fine”, he said. “You take everything from out of there. I have no concerns about data protection.”
A bunch of girls were openly bitching about another across the gym swimming pool. TPR sprung to the defence of the object of their derision.
“She has poorly ankles”, he explained.
“How do you know?” enquired the girl standing next to him in the deep end. “You don’t know her”, she continued.
“Yes I do”, he replied, “I know her very well.”
The girls exchanged knowing looks.
When TPR later explained to me that the person in question was the girl with the intravenous blue eye-liner, I was proud that he had stuck up for her.
TPR, CC, two young women and I were flat hunting together in Edinburgh. Due to its proximity to the park, and despite the odd-shaped room and traffic noise, we opted for 1 Colinton Road – a corner tenement with views of the castle.
Dreamaticus 