Rousse is in the dog house

Posted on May 13, 2012 by Dreamaticus

In the space of an afternoon both dogs were dead. The first – an ancient collie – died of old age. The second, however, was subject to a vicious attack by an Alsatian. In short, he was savaged to death.

How would I ever confess to my friend that her poor pet was no more? While I was working out what to say to her, mutual friends A and S were already on the phone, retelling all the gory details.

I never got the chance to apologise for not taking better care of my friend’s dog. She was so distressed by the news of the death that as soon as she put the phone down on our mutual friends she found a quiet spot where she promptly committed suicide.

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Shower storage solutions (Rousse)

Posted on May 11, 2012 by Dreamaticus

I needed to get home from an event on the Mound, but it was pouring down outside. I was not going to risk ruining my long purple suede boots. Then someone suggested that I probably had some other footwear in my rucksack. I looked inside and there I was surprised to come across a pair of high-heeled red suede ankle boots (also unsuitable for wet pavements). When I rummaged further down the bag I finally came across my flat black stomping shoes. Now I was ready to set off.

However, TF had other plans. The shower unit lent for the meeting belonged to the F family, but they had no means of getting it home. Would I be kind enough to phone TPR, and ask him to collect me and the shower in the car? Would we be willing (please) to store the shower in one of our spacious cellars?

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Beware iPad cracked screen scam (Rousse)

Posted on May 11, 2012 by Dreamaticus

Now that I had secured a top job in television my friends were much more interested in hearing about my work. At a university reunion dinner GW was intrigued at how I had managed to leap from one career to another.

Although, on the whole, I enjoyed my media career, the dishonesty of my new colleagues appalled me. For example, towards the end of a long bus journey home from a conference in London (the trains were all broken) I noticed a couple of cracks across the screen of my iPad. When I checked that my apps would still work I spotted that the interface looked different. In addition, I’d somehow downloaded many new files. Only then did I realise that someone else at the conference must have taken a fancy to my iPad (in perfect condition) and swapped it for theirs while I was not paying attention.

It was only much later that I had to confess to Belle that my stolen iPad was littered with draft tales for Dreamaticus. It would now only be a matter of time before the thief would blow the cover of Rousse and Belle.

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Will.i.am is ‘the one’ (Belle)

Posted on May 9, 2012 by Dreamaticus

I was sitting at the bar, mentally preparing myself for my next meeting.  Since I had arrived half an hour ago several cool, beautiful people had turned up and I was humiliated by my tatty tweed skirt and cardigan.

Despite this I could see that Will.i.am was openly admiring me from across the room.  He looked fabulous in his royal blue suit and smart hat.  When he asked for my phone number,  I knew instantaneously.  I had – at last – met the one.  And the same was true for him.  At long last my true love had appeared.

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Stocking-masked criminal and canine sidekick despatched into the night (Rousse)

Posted on May 9, 2012 by Dreamaticus

My family members were still scattered around the house, lounging about and chatting, and ignoring my instructions to put on their coats and shoes in readiness for the trip out to the Edinburgh Fringe to see the Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre. The show started in half an hour, yet not even TPR heeded my demands to get out of the door and into the cars. Instead I discovered him in a state of undress doing sit-ups on the green bedroom carpet.

Then the doorbell rang. Another visitor could only make matters worse. My heart sank when I opened the door and saw who was there: my geriatric personal stalker, brandishing a gun. Both he and his fierce dog wore stockings as disguise over their heads.

I knew that if I refused them entry, I’d be shot dead on the spot, so I invited the pair of them in. It would take a short while, but in the basis of previous visits I was pretty sure that I would be able to calm my stalker down – so long as I first gave him a bit of space to rant about the dangers of social networking.

At least on this occasion I was not alone in the house. As I showed my stalker and dog into the hall I summoned all-male back-up in the form of my father, nephew P, brother-in-law M, and TPR. Within seconds we had wrestled the gun from our criminal visitor, then despatched him and his canine sidekick back into the night.

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George Clooney charms Edinburgh (Rousse)

Posted on May 8, 2012 by Dreamaticus

George Clooney was back in Edinburgh, and now that we were firm friends he opted to stay at my house rather than a hotel.

It was a pity that I had to go to work while he visited, but that made no difference to George. He was quite happy to follow me wherever I needed to be, and didn’t mind accompanying me to the office.

The only problem was that whenever we set off to catch the number 29 bus across town to campus excited fans would approach George and ask for his autograph and photos. He was incredibly patient with them, and I admired him all the more for his kindness.

However, I loved George best of all in the knowledge that no matter how long he spent answering the questions of awe-struck strangers, he was mine, all mine – at least for the time being.

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England manager hosts the party of the year (Rousse)

Posted on May 7, 2012 by Dreamaticus

IS and I had been invited to the party of the year – a school reunion hosted by an England football manager at his mansion. We arrived early in order to secure the best accommodation for the night, and were the first to grab towelling dressing gowns from the hook on the back door.

You could tell that this was a celebration for the mega-rich. Everyone had brought at least one iPad, and some were equipped with MacAirs as well. Tablet PCs and laptops were so abundant that people were quite happy to leave them unguarded at their tables when they got up to dance or collect food from the buffet. I “borrowed” one so that I could demonstrate Blipfoto to a stranger.

The highlight of the evening, however, came when JB flew in from California. She came straight over to me to ask when I could visit her in San Francisco. “Not in the near future”, I replied, “Unless you know of a way to diminish my hideous workload, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to leave the country again.”

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Ageism rife at Virgin Active (Rousse)

Posted on May 7, 2012 by Dreamaticus

My boss at the Virgin Active gym took one look at me and said “I’m sending you home from work. I do not want to see here you again until you have dyed those grey roots black”.

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An unwise trip to the Scottish Antique and Arts Centre (Rousse)

Posted on May 6, 2012 by Dreamaticus

My father and my sister J had started their car journey from Stockton, so they were delighted when I suggested we break our journey at the Scottish Antique and Arts Centre. As we pulled into a parking space on the red gravel, I explained how the last time that I was there I had confidently predicted that we would find at least one glug jug on display. In the event there had been three on sale.

It was only when we were inside the showroom that I realised that this was probably not the most sensible place to take my father. Within minutes he had gathered up an armful of purchases including a six inch tall blue Toby jug and a fake Clarice Cliff milk jug, and now he was eyeing up second hand waders in the fishing tackle section.

Meanwhile J was interested in the collection of veterinary memorabilia, and enjoyed watching the metal workers at the forge in the basement.

Even I caught the buying bug and almost gave in to purchasing a 1960s dish that depicted game birds flying over a field – for no reason other than it matched something that we had once owned at the White House.

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Shoe shops, a suitcase, and a dodgy taxi ruin travel plans (Rousse)

Posted on May 6, 2012 by Dreamaticus

It was a real rush at the end of the Turku conference. Poor GW did her best to get me to the airport in time for my flight to London Heathrow (and onwards to meetings in Swindon), but I got distracted by shoe shops and then lost my brown suitcase.

The dodgy taxi driver who carried his wife and children along with every fare finally agreed to take me to the terminal at 8pm for an 8.20pm take-off and – inevitably – I missed it.

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