In our spare half hour, MHH and I made a quick trip down Morningside Road to the famous stained glass well.
We walked up the little hillock to the well shaft. From here we peered down at the jewelled glass lozenges that formed a neat platform above the water. The practicality of this was lost on us.
Our return along Morningside Road included multiple visits to charity shops (obviously).
With a small jump upwards, I was able to launch myself to fly wherever I wished. It was so easy to float unaided high above the white sands and Caribbean blue sea of Luskentyre on South Harris. One day I flew all the way from the Outer Hebrides to Oban.
The cat enjoyed the rides too – apart from the time that a giant grey rabbit family snapped at her paws as we set off on our travels.
RJH and TPR stole a white-painted wood candlestick stamped ERII from one of the royal family’s residences.
I was very ashamed of the pair of them.
I really did not want to go on holiday, so I took a long afternoon nap instead. I woke up and knew I had missed the flight. I was thrilled – all I needed to do now was contact the friend who had organised this ‘fun holiday’ and make up a lie about my absence.
Downstairs, however, something was amiss. My houseguest, believing I was in Spain for a week, had organised a surprise party for me and invited all my work colleagues. Here they were, sitting in my lounge and laughing at my record collection. I was livid – how dare he make friends with my work family? And, if this was ‘my’ surprise party, as he was now claiming, why wasn’t I invited?
TPR brought out yet another bags of clothes and random bits and pieces to sort for donation to charity.
I guessed that the knitting needles would be welcomed, but most of this junk was almost certainly destined for the Bethany Shop’s secret in-store bonfire.
There was no way that I would pay £45 to leave my car for a single day in a Newcastle multi-storey car park.
Instead, we took our chances and hunted for a free space on the mean streets of Jesmond.
I stood at the back of the church, aghast that the worshippers fell for all this nonsense. When they started the ritual of removing the notices from the boards on the right hand wall, I helpfully stood up and made a start on the boards on the left.
The church elders panicked, ran over, grabbed me by the shoulders, and hauled me out of the building. One of them volunteered to march me out of town.
On the way, my captor explained that he too was a graduate of the University of Birmingham. As proof, he proudly recited the title of the dissertation that he wrote for his undergraduate degree in biomedical sciences. I exhibited an extensive knowledge of microbiology in my response.
From the look on his face I could tell that he was (a) surprised and (b) falling in love.
ECM proudly showed off her sexy black lacy basque. She had saved it for 12 months to parade in front of PW at their next ‘annual bedroom appointment’.
My mother was enjoying her party so much that she took out her Northumbrian pipes and played a few tunes with her old friends.
I was therefore furious when my father’s sepia ghost put in an appearance. I pushed him in the direction of the kitchen with the instruction to keep out of the way. He could chat with his son-in-law if he wanted, but he was forbidden to go anywhere near his widow.
I had a long commute to the rave – a flight followed by a coach. When I arrived the venue was full of former friends and acquaintances. One of them (‘C’) had stolen my live in boyfriend many years ago, and, remembering I owed a mutual friend of ours £20, I asked her to pass it on. She immediately began denying that I had given her the money and made quite a scene. I was torn – should I just kill her now, or rise above her pettish behaviour? Later, I apparently played a DJ set although I couldn’t remember doing so. I saw it on TikTok.
Later, on the return coach journey I saw a pony-dog hybrid walking to a summer fair.
Dreamaticus 