The team at the National Library of Scotland had already grown significantly and they were keen to take on even more staff. The main source of new employees appeared to be two English universities.
SW was a recent recruit from one of these institutions. AG, LC and AM were also expected – just as soon as possible after they collected their three-year bonuses from their current employer in the summer.
All we siblings raced out of my in-laws’ house and jumped into the car. It was a bit of squash for the ten of us, but the distance was short to the coffee shop in Chichester.
There we were served by a tall, pale, thin, shy, spotty teenage waiter called John. He was of no use to us when we noticed that the people at the next able were smoking. Indeed, nobody could have helped us. Apparently the Health Act 2006 does not apply to West Sussex.
We were not prepared to pay for a trip to a coffee shop ruined by tobacco smoke. We left immediately in a swift, synchronised manner.
It was my first day of work at the prison and I was half way through the induction process. Standing on a balcony watching the prisoners socialising and playing snooker, I tried to make sense of the colour-coded prison outfits. Was it emerald green for armed robbers and red for mobile phone thieves? And why hadn’t I studied this before I started working here?
I woke up cold on the floor of our tatty bed and breakfast room, with TPR five feet away tucked up cosy in bed. At least this proved that I’d slept.
It was the last day of our holiday and now it was time to set off back home again. We’d lost the tandem somewhere en route, so our only real option for the journey home was to hitch a lift south. We stuck our thumbs out whenever a car approached, and they all ignored us.
Eventually we hit a highland village, where a bus labelled Perth drew up to the post office. I tracked down the driver – a giant, who was at least eight feet tall – to ask the fare and the length of the journey. “£2.50”, he replied, “But you better bring something to entertain your kids. We call at every stop and the journey takes six and a half hours.”
TPR decided that catching bus would be a complete waste of time. He resolved to travel no further this day. Instead he unrolled his sleeping bag, changed into his black spider-web night-wear, and climbed into a temporary bed in the open next to a garage. More shocking to me was his confession that he would be booking himself into the tattoo parlour as soon as he got home.
They all said that the new format of the conference from 2012 would be a more modest affair. How wrong they were!
Swarming around one of the best hotels in London were top figures from the industry and legions of sharply-suited sales staff. The glitzy conference reception desk sparkled as though it was the departure gate to another world.
I couldn’t wait to get my hands on the conference goody bag. Rather than the usual boring brochures, it was rumoured that these were filled with the stuff of celebrity parties. “How convenient”, I thought, “I could really do with some new perfume.”
I had been invited to participate in a competition to develop marketing materials to publicise the recent merger of two firms. We worked in groups of three. I was partnered with MJ and AC. If only I hadn’t given my best idea away to the group sitting next to us, we would have won the contract.
My suggestion was a relatively simple campaign that involved the production of about five lines of black text on grey backgrounds to be posted to advertising hoardings across the country. Each line of text would be a quotation from a famous film or book, the first to illustrate an initial meeting between two people who eventually fall in love, and the last the confirmation of this. So, for example, “Reader, I married him” would be an appropriate final quotation that could be combined with quotations from other works from the earlier stages of relationship development. The idea behind this was to show that two great firms had met, fallen in love, and would now live happily ever after.
Afterwards AC and I walked to Kings Cross station to catch the train back home to Edinburgh. He didn’t seem too bothered that I had given away our best idea. Instead, he was more interested in discussing the architectural deficiencies of Oxford Street and the possible location of my “lost” bike.
The venue for the research council meeting was a tiny battered car on Annandale Street. I was squashed in behind the front passenger’s seat listening to academics pontificating about anything but research. For example, one shared his obsession for staging a pantomime starring the members of this committee.
I don’t remember what time it was when I well asleep, but it was 05:00am when I woke up again from the cold. The only other person left in the car was a grey-haired woman who had attended the meeting in place of her husband. She announced that she was hungry and was heading off to find some food. I put in an order for a pain au chocolat. Her look told me that she didn’t believe that I would pay her back for anything that she purchased on my behalf and she suggested that we go shopping together.
My new companion took the wheel of the car and we drove up Leith Walk to look for a shop that was open. We had no luck here so continued to the castle. The esplanade was deserted too, although I was pretty sure that I glimpsed NY slip past us in his striped towelling dressing gown. There was no food to be had here either.
When we went inside, however, we were distracted from our hunger by the castle’s luxurious bathrooms, expensive toiletries and attentive staff. A small German servant boy offered to sort my newly laundered clothes. He’d just collected them from the laundress, who, it turned out, I recognised as a (now) former colleague. I was delighted to discover that apart from today there would be no further reason for me to see this sullen, ungrateful woman ever again.
I had overslept badly. It was 10.30am and I was in a sixth form common room on a Greek island. Fuddled, I went in search of a pot of tea and bumped into a friend who had serious news. Due to a clerical error, every time one of our party had exchanged currency it had been notched up against my passport. I was now wanted as a money-launderer and the Greek authorities were on their way to arrest me.
I was desperate. I tried to get friends to help me. One couple were too busy sitting on a hill watching amber stars burst into distant firework patterns. I asked the dry cleaner to help me but he refused. Only later when I woke up did I remember the dry cleaner was Turkish and probably unlikely to speak Greek.
What a busy day!
In the morning I made friends with a (real) cat, then had a very long chat with JB who had elected to spend the whole day in a marmalade fur outfit dressed as one.
Afterwards I discussed the future of library and information science research with CO, attended an impromptu church service at which only the vicar sang, and had huge problems getting through to AMcN on her mobile phone.
Dreamaticus 