SL led the running group on a seemingly never-ending set of circuits around the quad. I was doing surprisingly well up at the front. Poor DT was struggling, however. When she fell over NP rushed to her rescue. Perhaps this was enough exercise for one day?
Afterwards we sat at the side of the quad to download Champagne and cake to SL’s iPhone. When everything was in order we raised our glasses, wished SL a happy birthday, and then she blew out her candles.
My friend proudly unveiled the freshly pressed website for her new online business.
What a disaster! Given that her business was built up around the concept of selling coloured craft materials, it made no sense at all that she had chosen to present the whole thing in black and white. Then there was the ludicrous forgettable and utterly unpronounceable URL. It even included a redundant silent letter, for goodness sake!
My friend wanted to ignore my feedback on the grounds that I was a mere academic. What would I know about big business and web design?
I reminded her of my association with large professional services firms and my work on intranet developments with Silicon Valley companies in 1995. From across the room my other friend SL looked on, turning green with envy on hearing of all the fun that was had in the heady days of the dot.com boom.
We were going to be late for school and JM was furious. He stormed into my bedroom at the White House to find out why it was taking me so long to get downstairs. I explained that I was just cleaning my teeth and then I would soon be ready. Meanwhile, after a chilly night in the spare bedroom, newly-engaged LP was also getting her act together.
When we eventually gathered downstairs to get into the car I realised that I had left my regulation brown school uniform jumper up in my bedroom. There was no time to go back and fetch it so instead I grabbed a fluffy short-sleeved bolero from a pile of clothes in the hall. My plan was to wear this to my first class then go and find a “proper” jumper for the rest of the day from lost property in the morning break.
Although I supplied the food for the end of term party, I had no intention of eating a mince pie with green butter. Next to the spread, CFS and I discussed escape plans for the holiday. Would we get away with not coming in on Thursday, the last official day at work? I was pretty sure that my boss would be there to check that everyone worked right up to the last minute. Anyone in my team who left early would be taking a huge risk.
Regardless, I made that Wednesday my last day on campus, and first thing the next day TPR and I drove west. We were going to visit the world’s most beautiful beach. Our destination – found on a small island off one of the Inner Hebrides – was a sore disappointment. We knew of a hundred better candidates than this tiny bay and its damp, dark cave.
Sting was giving his full attention to AD, but I didn’t mind because I knew that my turn would come eventually. I made myself comfortable knitting on the sofa listening to Eddie Mair in the second half of Radio 4’s PM programme.
When Sting and AD ended their conversation and I moved into position. I told Sting all about our family trip to Aberfeldy in Easter 1979. During that holiday I read A man for all seasons in the bath as preparation for my English Literature O level exam, and my sisters and I begged my parents to play Radio 1 whenever we were out and about in the car. I recalled singing along to The sultans of swing by Dire Straits and catterwauling to Cool for cats by Squeeze from the back seat of the silver Granada. Sting didn’t correct me when I also mentioned De Do Do Do De Da Da Da by the Police, even though this single wasn’t released until December 1980.
Sting listened to all this intently, then told me a thing or two about his own life. I was impressed at his fitness given his age, and congratulated him on his conversational style. He was so much more interesting than Mick Jagger.
I stood up to address the warring parties with a solution as simple as it was obvious.
“You must all learn that it’s OK when others don’t agree with you”
What fun! I turned up to the conference to find that I was seated between my primary school friend HP, and MH from my history A level class. I had seen HP relatively recently, but had had no contact with MH for years. I was delighted to learn that he was a successful project manager working in the Midlands.
I’d waited years to meet Sir Paul McCartney in person and now I’d blown it.
I thought that I had time before my appointment with the ex-Beatle to pop down to the harbour and check for a consignment of chewing gum on the incoming ferry. I did.
However, I should not have boarded the boat just at the point that it was setting sail again. Now I was trapped on board heading for Ireland with no hope of getting back to land in time to meet my hero.
Sir Paul McCartney elsewhere on Dreamaticus:
I was doing well, hill training with LM and SS in the woods. On the way back up through the trees I bounded past the pair of them with hardly a need to draw breath.
My athletic achievement was soon eclipsed, however, when the three muddy bush women came along. They zoomed past all three of us at top speed. There was not a hope that we would ever match their levels of fitness.
