The trimmest women at the university reunion were best friends SB and KH. The secret to their slim frames was smoking.
When JG and his pals arrived, I wondered whether I should pass on the tip. PS could definitely do with losing a stone or two.
The trimmest women at the university reunion were best friends SB and KH. The secret to their slim frames was smoking.
When JG and his pals arrived, I wondered whether I should pass on the tip. PS could definitely do with losing a stone or two.
I was worried about the safety of the family’s holiday cottage. Although the front door to the building that we shared with the neighbours was secured with a Yale lock, the door to our porch and the second one from the porch into the hall, could not be locked properly. There was only a flimsy bolt across the inner door.
I was also concerned about food hygiene in the kitchen. Amongst the items in the packed fridge were dairy products over a year past their use-by dates! I raised this with my cousin R’s wife H. She was more interested in cooking a prawn curry to share with her daughter R after the next night’s parents’ evening than in my paranoia over food poisoning.
Then my cousin A walked in on us. She also completely ignored my concerns. Instead she announced the ‘great news’ that next year she was getting married on Dartmoor (rather than in Scotland), and that TPR and I would definitely not be invited to the wedding.
What a shock!
I remembered the woman called Poppy, and the man who ran a pottery. They had been friends of my mother in the 1960s.
However, I had no idea that for a period of my early childhood my father took principal responsibility for me and my sister – so that my mother could engage in a torrid affair with the potter!
Bold as brass, TPR pulled into a ‘visitors only’ parking space outside Edinburgh University’s Informatics building.
A parking warden immediately scurried over to us to ask about the nature of our visit. TPR guessed at the name of a host professor, then gave my details as visitor.
As soon as the warden was out of sight again, I insisted that TPR drive us away. I wanted no part in this scam.
TPR was forced to return to school. This meant wearing the red and black Stewart’s Melville College uniform. Although his trousers were a little short in the leg, he still looked very handsome.
When LM and I visited the school, we were shocked at the poor state of the lavatories. The gaps between the stall doors were so great that you could not avoid witnessing the activity on the toilets either side of you. For those in the queue, there was a grandstand view.
While I was on the loo myself, LM watched someone with the minimum of self-awareness display his entire naked body through the gaps of his stall door.
I was unsuccessful in my application for a job as a locum GP. The reason was the quality of my references:
To kill time before my dinner date with TPR, I wandered around the huge Tesco store. I admired the massive suitcases, and the extensive collection of huge tents and other camping equipment.
When I exited the shop and started to walk towards the restaurant, a woman approached me. I was alarmed that she seemed intent on causing me harm. In fact, all that she wanted to do was offer me directions.
I reached the restaurant only to discover that it had gone out of business months ago. Furthermore, TPR was nowhere to be seen.
When I called TPR’s mobile, a stranger answered: ‘This is Laurence Passmore. You have been hacked. If you do not pay my ransom, I will release all your data’.
The last time that I had seen my mother’s vast drawing room it looked like an antiques salesroom, crammed from floor to ceiling with fine furniture and paintings. Now it was empty.
I found my sister S fast asleep under a heap of ragged blankets on a dirty mattress on the dining room floor.
When I asked what had happened to all the valuables, she muttered that ‘some men in a van’ had collected everything. She couldn’t remember the date they came, but she definitely didn’t see the auctioneer and hadn’t asked for a receipt.
It didn’t make sense to carry everything that we had packed on the second part of our highland holiday, so we left our excess baggage at the self-catering cottage in Pitlochry. We would call in to collect it on our return journey south in a week’s time.
Of course, we hadn’t considered that others would rent the cottage immediately after us. When we returned to the house, we found a family of three – a mother, father and a toddler – fast asleep upstairs. They stirred as I push open the bedroom door. As apology, I offered the parents a cup of tea.
Our belongings strewn around the place for the week had not caused any problems. In fact, the parents hadn’t even noticed them.
The family’s holiday had not been as restful as ours. The miserable worn-out wife told me that she had been left in charge of the boisterous toddler while her medic husband worked. She couldn’t even look forward to going home. She was ashamed to say that they lived in Hull.
John Humphrys spent much time chatting to me at his retirement party. He posed for a photograph with me and my American PhD students. They had no idea of his identity.
I also spotted Bernard Cribbins amongst the guests. He was just another ‘unknown’ as far as the students were concerned.