I was curious about the man I discovered was living on the top floor of our house. He had walked into the lounge and – without uttering a word – gripped my wrist tightly and stared into my eyes.
“He’s Angelo Rossini”, whispered my sister. How attractive he was, with his floppy long hair and skinny jeans! I lay in the bath – fully clothed – to shave my hairy legs in readiness for our inevitable tryst. This was going to take a long time as all I had to hand was a nose hair clipper.
While BD looked after the three Christmas cakes in his shop on Park Street, I popped up the road to Debenhams to buy some tins so that I could carry my baking home with me after work. The Bristol branch of Debenhams was well known for employing the very brightest staff, and running the tiniest lifts.
I observed in Australia that not only were academic gay couples the norm, but that it was also quite common for them to live with a third, slightly younger, lover.
AM and CO were reputed to duet together. The former was particularly popular: it was said that she sang as beautifully as Carey Mulligan.
On Paisley Gala Day, however, AM refused to sing. She preferred to watch the parade through the streets incognito from the sidelines. In contrast my university pal JS, on holiday in Scotland with her family, was determined to join in the fun. She ducked under a pink tarpaulin at the head of the parade and proudly marched along the route next to the local hairdresser.
Meanwhile I dug into the box of cereal that I had found in KT’s rucksack. I picked out lumps of Flake chocolate from amongst the oats and raisins and popped them into my mouth. This really annoyed KT.
I had been invited to attend training at Westeros Weapons School.
Delegates were seated in the conference room while the teacher explained that they were to be trained in the use of percussion instruments for warfare. One man in particularly attracted my attention as he savagely shook a small plastic water bottle full of pebbles.
Since I had taken up residence in a guest room of the Virgin Active gym at Edinburgh’s Omni Centre, it had become much more difficult to organise my morning run with TPR (who lived in Leith).
Added to this was the problem of all the other distractions in my life, such as a pile of clothes spilling out of a huge Oxfam bag, and the traveller family that kept trying to move in with me.
I explained that our friends always dressed in identical burgundy outfits because this made it easy to (a) ensure colour coordination and (b) select clothes for the wash – not least because they were both blind.
As Edinburgh’s worst driver, I was in trouble again. I drove through a red light at the junction of Lothian Road and Princes Street, taking out a pedestrian. While she lay injured and unconscious on the tarmac, someone else called an ambulance and I flirted with a young vet.
GG told me that the murderer was reputed to be wearing red and white patterned pyjamas edged in braid that sported the blue and white logo of the Economic and Social Research Council.
I raised an eyebrow in mock concern in full knowledge that he had just described my nightly attire.
Dreamaticus 