‘David Bowie algebra’ and ‘Wild swimming Shakespeare’ (Rousse)

Posted on February 2, 2024 by Dreamaticus

I accepted the job with the Trump lookalike at his stationery emporium, even though each of us had doubts about the other.

My biggest gripe was that he kept dodging my questions about a contract. On the first day of my new role, I still had no idea of my salary. Then there was the issue of my educational track record. Apparently a maths O level from the 1970s was no longer valid in 2024. My new boss sent me to the local comprehensive to join a class of third years and prepare for the maths examination currently taken by 16 year-olds.

On my first day at school, I sat in the second row in the maths class. I could see the open exercise book of the teenage girl seated in front of  me. It was covered in hand-written notations that meant absolutely nothing to me. This was going to be so hard.

However, when I asked her about this strange form of algebra, the girl responded with mocking laughter. Had I never seen the lyrics of David Bowie’s songs in his favoured script before?! While this was a rude reply, it was somewhat cheering to know that I wouldn’t need to learn an extensive new set of symbols in preparation for the exam.

I was also very pleased when one of the teachers – a Dr Somebody-or-Other with a mass of frizzy hair – told the class that definitions were part of the syllabus. ‘Get all of them right on the paper’, he explained ‘and you would get a D, even if you left all the other answers blank’.

‘Is a D a pass?’ I hissed at the girl to the left of me.

‘Yes’ she replied.

I was good at definitions. All I needed to do now was to write to the exam board to request the definition list and commit all the entries to memory. A grade D pass would suit me fine.

The same afternoon there was a school trip to watch ‘Wild swimming Shakespeare’. The entire school was in attendance. When most of the teachers and pupils were in the water I spotted a gang of boys (including one bouncing along on two metal false legs) working their way through the coats and bags that were piled up at the side of the swimming pond. I raced after them to retrieve my own blue leather handbag (still intact) and a black one that belonged to one of the teachers (now missing).

After the adventures of my first day at school, I remarked to TPR that it was probably not the best idea to return to employment at this stage of my life.

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The nameless poet returns (Belle)

Posted on January 28, 2024 by Dreamaticus

I was back for my third date with the poet. We were soulmates and I was having a wonderful time. The only problem was I still didn’t know what his name was, and couldn’t remember it from the jacket of his book. It seemed awkward to ask him now. I sneakily eavesdropped on him making a phone call so I could hear him introduce himself.

Unfortunately, when he did so, I heard a stream of five names that all sounded like “carkle, larkle”, followed by a noise that sounded like a throat being cleared. I was going to simply call him Poet for the foreseeable future.

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Toilet transport for women (Rousse)

Posted on January 27, 2024 by Dreamaticus

While my male ex-colleague SL could happily stand up from the dinner table, cross the room, and find the gents with no trouble at all, any women who hoped to use the facilities at the University of Edinburgh were forced to make a much greater effort.

In short, there were no women’s lavatories on campus at all. If you needed to go, you asked a member of the student recruitment team to open a hatch for you, then you lowered yourself into an underground wheeled crate. When the door above you closed, you sped 60 miles north to Pitlochry.

On the day that I took this journey, TMcE and his children greeted me at the other end. As well as showing off the marvellous public conveniences of Pitlochry, they also offered to accommodate me for the night and drive me back to Edinburgh the next day. I accepted their invitation, mainly because I couldn’t face another minute in the toilet transport vehicle.

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Teddy bears in Berlin (Rousse)

Posted on January 26, 2024 by Dreamaticus

I was furious to find that someone had broken up my jigsaw of teddy bears in Berlin.

I was using this as a map. How would find my way through the streets of the city now?

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Belle meets ‘the one’ – twice

Posted on January 25, 2024 by Dreamaticus

I was waiting in reception at my publisher’s when, to my horror, a former employer walked out of the elevator towards me. I sighed because this was going to be awkward – she had treated me dreadfully. However, I was saved when I was called into my meeting.

On my way, I had to squeeze through a crowded room filled with smart people drinking champagne. “Scandinavian or Dutch” I said to myself, admiring their spectacles and outfits. I was wearing a fabulously reflective chrome-coloured trench coat. Remembering that my eyes had different modes, I switched them to the ‘sparkle’ setting.

A middle aged fair-haired man, who looked as if he could be cast as Inspector Wallander, stepped in front of me to block my path and propositioned me. I looked into his eyes, and liked what I saw. I said, “I’m actually contemplating it – it’s been years”. It didn’t take long for him to realise I was telling the truth, and a silent agreement was reached.

[At this point I woke up, drank a glass of milk and cried for 45 minutes. Then I went back to sleep.]

Once again, I met my new lover. In the interim, I had shaved my legs, styled my hair and was ready for action. I found out more about him. He was not Dutch, but a famous South African poet. He was kindness itself and I know I was going to be looked after. I didn’t know where we were going for our tryst, but I did say “I have to be up fairly early in the morning – I’m going to Bermondsey Antiques Market.” He seemed impressed.

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Secret Traitors plant is the Orinoco kid (Rousse)

Posted on January 25, 2024 by Dreamaticus

The Traitors’ production team planted me amongst the players at the start of episode 1. My role was to drop conversational prompts into discussions to generate entertaining dialogue for the television footage.

As I completed my mission, I wondered at the intelligence of the contestants. Not one commented on my absence at the nightly round tables. Even when I pointed out that I was responsible for some of the castle décor (two final year undergraduate Honours project posters), no suspicions were voiced.

I would not feature in any scenes of the series to be broadcast later in the year. Would it only be then that the players learn of my deception?

It was a most enjoyable role. I even had a special theme tune to recognise my boldness, bravery, and fearlessness: Orinoco kid by the Wombles.

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Invited to a picnic then snubbed at a talk (Rousse)

Posted on January 24, 2024 by Dreamaticus

I glimpsed a slim figure sauntering down the hall in a blue and white 1960s sundress, carrying a wicker basket.

‘Who would like to join me for a picnic?’ called my mother, returned to the beauty of her twenties – except it wasn’t my mother, but her grand-daughter (and my niece) AMF.

Later I spotted AMF and my sister J sitting down to listen to a talk. My sister was not amused when I approached the empty seat next to them and asked ‘Is this taken?’

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Troubles at the UK’s top events venue (Rousse)

Posted on January 24, 2024 by Dreamaticus

Robert Gordon University was now the leading UK events venue, and buzzing with delegates when I arrived for a conference.

I soon found fellow academic BD and we agreed to meet the next morning at 8:00am for breakfast. I would have preferred 8:30am, but BD insisted on 30 minutes earlier to give us the chance to pack in as much networking as possible before the start of the conference sessions.

I left BD and set off for reception upstairs to check in and collect my room key. The route there was rather challenging. I couldn’t locate a staircase, and the first couple of times that I thought that I had found the ‘right’ lift, the staff inside barred my entry on the basis that I was not a member of a project team.

Eventually I made it to the reception desk. It was staffed by two glamorous women dressed for the 1970s in uniforms reminiscent of long-defunct airlines. Their make-up and hair matched the same era. Above eyelashes dripping in mascara, thick baby blue eyeshadow reached to just beneath their eyebrows. The fringes of their big hairstyles fell across their beaming faces.

One of the pair, who introduced herself as Stephanie, asked if she could help me. On learning my name, she pulled a copy of my reservation document from a file. She then requested my credit card for the £700 charge for my two nights of accommodation. This was almost double the advertised rate, or so I thought. Stephanie explained that the figure that I had in mind only applied if you paid in advance. £400 was within my credit card limit; £700 was not. It looked like I would not be staying here for the duration of the conference.

Just as I was turning to leave, a woman introduced herself to me as Katy. With her long red hair, I recognised her as a former member of staff of the University. She remarked that this institution was always coming up with new ways to rip off conference delegates. She also moaned about three prominent members of academic staff of my acquaintance. It struck me as she spoke that this threesome had also taken me for a ride in the past. They had begged me to deliver a keynote presentation at a conference at very short notice – which I did – and afterwards ignored me.

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Parking on double yellow lines at the station: a hanging offence (Rousse)

Posted on January 21, 2024 by Dreamaticus

It seemed too good to be true that I could drive all the way along the pedestrian access and then park just outside the railway ticket office. Where was the no entry sign, and what had become of the double yellow lines?

Of course I was right: this was an illegal move. I was apprehended as soon as I stepped out of the car, then marched to a small office off the station’s main concourse. Here I could hear cries of pain as a fellow miscreant was punished for her offences.

When it was my turn to be seen, I was greeted by woman in a green uniform brandishing a long stick. To my great relief she explained that my sentence had been mitigated from a real hanging to a fake one. If I could just sit still for a few minutes, she would tug on my arms a little and then I would be released. I also had to promise that I would never again attempt to park at the station.

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A shoddy Edinburgh welcome at Portobello Town Hall (Rousse)

Posted on January 20, 2024 by Dreamaticus

All business travellers to Edinburgh were routed into the city via Portobello Town Hall. Strips of dirty blue plastic poorly fixed to the hall’s internal steps announced ‘Welcome to Edinburgh’ hundreds of times in a tiny font. Once in the main room, the visitors were faced with rows and rows of traders’ stands, the majority of which offered homemade foodstuffs free of charge.

I saw an opportunity to pick up some cakes to take to J&G in Manchester. However, on close inspection, I discovered that (a) the goods were not very appetising and (b) the generous offer of free goods was limited to one cup cake per person. Regardless, I paid for a large iced cake from a woman on a stall at the far left hand side, then left the building.

Next on the agenda was a trip to the Forth Rail Bridge. I had heard that you could access it by foot. This proved too challenging for me. I lacked the strength to crawl through the narrow tunnel that had been bored through the hill to reach the structure at South Queensferry. I was also too frightened.

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