Towards the end of our stay in a shoddy three star hotel, TPR fell in with a group of other guests. He was so enraptured with them that he would have sat at their table at dinner had I not forbidden this.
TPR was no longer the man I knew and loved. He clearly now had no interest in me whatsoever. Even so, he was my responsibility, and his frail mental state represented yet another burden for me to bear.
TPR shouted back to me that I should follow him up the hill to ‘See this!’
Ahead of me on the right hand side I could just make out an orange glow. As I approached it, I saw an occupied office block on fire. Instead of jumping out of the windows to safety, office workers were clambering up the building. Others encouraged them, claiming that the best place to shelter from the flames was a roof-top water garden.
My mother was sitting on a bench opposite the blazing building. My sister was meant to be looking after her, but had disappeared to Newcastle for an unknown period. Afraid that the fire could spread across the road, I threw my mother over my shoulders and onto my back, then carried her downhill.
Not long afterwards the whole city was ablaze. The only place of safety was the crowded canal.
PMF and CA worked for the family firm in Stockton-on-Tees.
One day, when I was looking for a dress* in a cupboard in my parents’ bedroom, I heard CA arguing with my father and his business partner. A few hours later, while I was on a group nature walk along the river, I spotted CA and my father’s business partner again. This time they were locked in a passionate embrace in a small blue car. Somebody needed to inform PMF. Would I be brave enough to do so?
*This was for an event at the Parkwood Hotel in Hartburn. I chose a modest tea dress. I later regretted my decision when ECM appeared in an almost transparent pale blue silk and satin gown, and our two other companions were also dressed for a ball rather than a night at the pub. My only consolation was that my hair was still the longest.
Not long after my mother and I bought half a dozen sausages to cook on the train carriage grill, TPR suggested that we take advantage of the 40 minute break in the journey at Edinburgh Waverley station to play tourist in Midlothian. This sounded like a fun idea to me, so I plonked my mother on the back of a black pony and we led her across the by-pass to the Pentland Hills.
Of course our moorland trek took much longer than the allotted 40 minutes. By the time we realised this, the train to Inverness had left Edinburgh – with my computer and handbag, our suitcases, and the sausages.
The biggest surprise at TPR’s work reunion was the Japanese engineer dressed in a dark maroon kimono-style mini-dress and black, strappy, high-heeled sandals, who boasted that life was so much better without a willy.
My friend the accidental heiress had no idea what to do with her fortune. I suggested that a good start would be to open a bank account. Then she would be able to clear her flat of the wads of dollar bills that littered the floor of every room.
When the aquafit class was held up yet again by the squeals of the short, fat, ginger woman, I could stand it no more. I climbed straight out of the pool. Then, dripping wet, I announced that I was speaking on behalf of everyone in the class who had caring duties.
I explained that our limited ‘leisure’ time at the pool was very precious. We wanted to spend it exercising, not listening to her whinging.
For this short speech, I won a round of applause.
My excitement at seeing DM again was wiped off my face when she told me that she hadn’t appreciated my contributions to online conversations about academic promotion criteria.
Whatever was I thinking, ransacking a dialogue that was obviously none of my business?
I turned to a stranger on the bus and jokingly said “every time I simply look at my fingers, another nail breaks off”.
What followed was a whirlwind. Within a week, my fingernails were the front page story of the British tabloids and I was interviewed on a BBC TV consumer affairs programme by Esther Rantzen.
I had lost all interest in graduation by the time we reached the fifth day of the proceedings, so I retreated to my office to get on with some (real) work. However, when I spotted my Thai student outside struggling to walk in her national costume of tight white satin robe and enormous lemon yellow silk conical headdress, I saw the opportunity for a great photograph.
I ran downstairs and across the street to the graduation hall. There in the foyer, several people were helping the student to steady the ludicrous six feet high hat on the student’s head. I hoped to snap a photo and leave, but felt obliged to stay until the student managed to enter the hall to be awarded her degree. While waiting, I suggested a bike ride on our three-person tandem (trandem) and a picnic to celebrate her success.
The next day the Thai student looked horrified when TPR and I turned up at her flat with the trandem and a rucksack of goodies for lunch. She had, however, obviously prepared for a day out and was already dressed in her T shirt and shorts.
We had only ridden a short way up a hill when I asked to stop to change into lighter clothes. In the time that it took for us all to dismount and for me to put on a pair of shorts, the Thai student had grabbed the bike and sped back downhill again to her flat. When we reached her on foot, we found two of her friends comforting her.
This threesome had expected a loan of our bike – with picnic provided free of charge – for a day out together on their own. They believed that we had just attempted to kidnap the Thai student for the day. Added to this, they accused me of being personally responsible for the current conflict in Gaza.
We magnanimously handed over the trandem and gave up the picnic – although I did ‘steal’ a couple of chocolate truffles before we left the Thai student and her two friends for their day of threesome fun.
Dreamaticus 