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.
I took an instant dislike to ST’s new research student, largely because her first pronouncement was centred on who she might consider worthy enough to co-publish with her.
I found a beautiful shiny black and pale green button. By complete coincidence BC discovered the lump of rare marble from which it had been hewn.
At long last we had come to a compromise and I would soon be the proud owner of a house with a sea view in Berwick-upon-Tweed.
I popped into town to check the facilities. “Perhaps Berwick isn’t the place for me”, I concluded after a man attacked me in a public toilet and the police tried to pin the blame on a retired professor of English literature simply on the basis that he was a foot taller than my assailant.
Dreamaticus 