Belle, the penguin murderer

Posted on July 29, 2012 by Dreamaticus

I was working for a publishing house, the headquarters of which were on an island not unlike the Famous Five’s Kirrin Island.  My bosses were a commune of penguins who wanted to build a ‘more penguiny future’ and I was delighted to be part of their vision.

Every morning I rowed to Penguin Island in a wooden boat with a tartan blanket over my knees.  On my first day of work, I tried very hard to locate an out of print book about an obscure Liverpool footballer of the 1950s for a retired military chap.  Although unable to locate a copy in our archive, I recommended the gentleman try the local public library and I was praised for my creative problem solving. 

All was going well until one day, as I arrived at the island, I found a dead penguin in my boat. It was perfectly obvious that I had accidentally murdered the penguin by repeatedly hitting him over the head with my oars.  Although this was an accident, caused by my rowing style, I had a hell of a lot of explaining to do.

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Rousse’s fury at friendships unearned

Posted on July 29, 2012 by Dreamaticus

I saw Belle so infrequently that whenever we were together I simply wanted her to myself. She was, after all, my favourite friend in all the world, and I was pretty sure that she felt the same about me. So I was a ball of fury when I noticed that just about everyone else at the conference behaved as if they loved Belle as much as I did, and she seemed just as happy to reciprocate their devoted affection with the same amount of enthusiasm as she did mine!

I was further annoyed by a sales rep speaker who rambled on in the mistaken belief that I knew nothing about conferences. I considered telling him that I had been behind the first of the series that we were now attending, but I couldn’t be bothered.

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A lost suitcase, an unknown phone number, and the scandal of banking hours in British provincial towns (Rousse)

Posted on July 29, 2012 by Dreamaticus

It was their mistake, but I should have thought of it earlier, especially since I was the one who would suffer as a result. By the time that I returned to the café H and K had already left. They had remembered to leave my papers for me on the table, but forgotten that my suitcase was still in their car. I would have to phone them to ask them to turn around and bring back my belongings. It was essential that I recovered my soap bag before my work trip next week.

My next problem was that I did not have their number. Then I remembered that K worked for KPMG. I couldn’t get through to Directory Enquiries so instead I walked into South Queensferry where I hoped to find a bank and a friendly clerk who would look up the number for me. The full reality of banking hours in provincial towns hit me as I checked the notices along the high street. There were plenty of banks and building societies here, but not a single one was open. To get any help, I’d have to come back on a Tuesday between 1 and 2pm.

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Cannibalism and communicating by corn (Rousse)

Posted on July 28, 2012 by Dreamaticus

All this food looked amazing. It was only when you inspected it at close range did you discover its drawbacks:

  • the multitude of dishes stretching across the banquet tables were inedible plastic models;
  • the (real) corn on the cob was not meant to be eaten, but used as a tool for communication – you encoded your message in the maize by plucking out pieces of grain;
  • the butcher’s display comprised cuts of human flesh.

So I was desperately disappointed to find nothing on the banquet table to eat. Then my attempts to send a message to ECM by maize were hopeless because I kept on accidentally nibbling at the wrong bits. There was, of course, no way to correct my grain grammar.

The ethics of selling human body parts was perhaps the most worrying aspect of all in this collection of odd food. I was thinking of reporting my outrage to the authorities when it dawned on me that this, amongst everything else, was just part of some quirky arts performance.

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To America by jet-boat (Rousse)

Posted on July 27, 2012 by Dreamaticus

The new way to travel to the US was by jet-boat. Developments in shipping technology meant that it was just as fast to cross the Atlantic by sea as by air. What is more, in the latter part of the journey passengers could sit on deck and sunbathe.

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Love triangle legacy is a wedding and a bed and breakfast (Rousse)

Posted on July 26, 2012 by Dreamaticus

I was bound to have told SL the story of the ill-fated love triangle, yet she had somehow independently befriended the main villain of the piece. There she was, all excited about the forthcoming wedding, begging us to come along as her plus one and two, apparently unaware of how painful this would be for us. Later on I saw the bride-to-be (villain number 2) and she also seemed quite happy to welcome us on her big day, even though we’d been on the other side throughout the whole sorry drama.

The third character in the story had been dead for over a decade. Reminded of him by SL’s new friendship, we decided to pay his old flat a visit. We thought that the poster we had just bought might look good in his sitting room. We half expected his heir to answer the door, but instead his elderly aunt greeted us. She had been very busy in the past ten years. The entire front portion of the flat was set out like a business. The tiny flat was now a popular bed and breakfast destination.

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Stuck in stilettos in Stockton-on-Tees (Rousse)

Posted on July 24, 2012 by Dreamaticus

Belle and I took twenty pairs of stretchy nylon Marks and Spencer knickers in flesh tones to the event, just in case anyone needed a pair. Nobody did.

Afterwards my father paid the bill then we all wandered off to catch the bus home. It was a while since my last journey along Yarm Road in Stockton-on-Tees, but I was pretty sure that last time I looked Cadbury did not have its Victorian headquarters next to the Richard Hind School. My sister J was just as incredulous as I that I had never noticed the building before: the familiar purple branding was hardly subtle.

Just at the point that Hartburn Lane becomes Darlington Road, the bus broke down. We had no choice but to walk the rest of the way home. This would not be easy for Belle in her six-inch purple satin stilettos.

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David Beckham silenced in black and white (Rousse)

Posted on July 23, 2012 by Dreamaticus

I’d made it as a member of the Blipfoto elite. Personally invited by JT, I was a guest at a movie première at the Church Hill Theatre Edinburgh to celebrate Blip’s latest venture.

Unfortunately the sound dropped from the black and white reel just a couple of minutes in. Still, it was at least long enough for me to experience yet another thrill: Mr David Beckham in celluloid.

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Dress designer and academic set off on secret mission by EasyJet (Rousse)

Posted on July 22, 2012 by Dreamaticus

MSB and I set off on our secret mission to Russia by EasyJet. Our challenge was to retrieve the sky blue C90 cassette tape and return it intact to the UK. We ignored our Macedonian intern’s fears that we’d never get out of Russia alive without valid visas. Against her will, we forced her to accompany us as our “local” translator.

In the event the most dangerous part of the journey came as we attempted to cross the ungated railway tracks, dodging commuter trains. The guards at the border barely glanced at us, showing no interest whatsoever in our travel documents. This was all too easy.

Indeed by the time we found the cassette tape I was beginning to wonder if we were in Russia at all. The complex of out of town superstores that I could see from the window looked remarkably like Fort Kinnaird, just off the Edinburgh city bypass.

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Come dine with me – please! (Belle)

Posted on July 19, 2012 by Dreamaticus

When exactly had I booked my place on this ‘Surburbans Go to Europe by Coach’ holiday? And since when had zone 2 in south east London been considered ‘suburban’? I was a fish out of water stuck on a hot coach, with perfectly groomed and attractive middle-aged couples.

When we piled off a coach in Italy, a delicious banquet awaited us. But the venue was unprepared for an unaccompanied adult and there was nowhere for me to sit. I was forced to wander table to table asking people if I could join them. They all refused and I resorted to stealing a potato croquette out of a food warmer and trying to make conversation with the waiters.

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