Dreamaticus

Ricki Lake looked fabulous close-up. She wore a tight black pencil skirt, white blouse and pillar box red jacket over her neat little body. My only criticism was that she was too heavily made-up. On the other hand, this was the middle of a recording a UK version of Ricki’s show in Manchester, and the make-up artist had done a good job of softening her angular features.

I was at the recording thanks to the generosity of SM and BC, who had clubbed together to buy me a ticket. I knew nobody else in the audience, but this didn’t matter. It was enough to be there and watch the star of the show interact with everyone else. The American audience members were easily spotted because they all wore long red gowns that billowed over their enormous bellies. As I reflected on the size of the Americans it crossed my mind that Ricki Lake herself was once huge, yet today she looked minscule. Had she perhaps undergone plastic surgery? How else could she have shed so much weight?

On my way home I called in at my grandmother’s house in Hexham. It was a while since I’d taken the car there, and I had difficulties getting it out of the street after my visit. EH volunteered to take the wheel and – thanks to her driving expertise – soon we were on our way north again. We expected a straight run home so were most annoyed when a police patrol car pulled us over. Apparently EH had broken the speed limit. This was a load of nonsense and we would do everything in our powers for the ticket to be revoked. The over-zealous patrol man didn’t have a clue who he had taken on.