Shoes lost and children found in Oxford (Rousse)

Posted on July 10, 2011 by Dreamaticus

We were just taking our seats for breakfast at the guest house in Perth when suddenly the phone rang. In Oxford P, S, L and T were missing us terribly and demanded our company there and then. Miraculously we joined them almost immediately, although TPR did get flashed by a speed camera on the way south.

The main entertainment of the afternoon was to walk up a very dry red sandstone hill in unsuitable clothing, on a hunt for L & T’s children. TPR wore white chinos, a checked shirt and beige cashmere jumper; I was in a silk party dress and so hot that I eventually discarded it to continue the climb in my slip; L was decked out in a 1980s wedding dress, arguing that it was the latest fashion.

Children found, and back in town later that afternoon, I lost my shoes somewhere down a dark corridor of New College.

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Victoria Beckham brightens Rousse’s conference woes

Posted on July 9, 2011 by Dreamaticus

I walked up to the Sheraton Hotel in Edinburgh with BF. I was rather embarrassed to be attending a conference in my purple fleece pyjamas, but BF was almost identically dressed and didn’t care at all. Once everyone was assembled in the lecture hall, all eyes turned to me as the closing keynote speaker. This was the moment that I had dreaded all week: the one when I would be forced to admit that I had absolutely nothing to say having exhausted all my ideas in the opening keynote presentation that I had delivered at the same conference on Wednesday. There was silence for about five minutes as I summoned up the courage to suggest that we could run a Q&A session instead. When it became clear that I would not speak the delegates took to their feet and gave me a rapturous round of applause.

Afterwards IS invited me to Victoria Beckham’s birthday tea. Before she arrived I examined all the cards and presents laid out for her and wondered what was the point of them all. Surely someone so wealthy would not hanker after any more possessions? However, Victoria seemed delighted that IS had gone to so much trouble. Later, under the tea table, she confirmed how happy she was. She also whispered that she liked IS’s new red-headed boyfriend, explaining that his predecessor had been “sacked” for cheating. She accidentally revealed stubbly legs under her purple silk galaxy dress, yet I was more puzzled as to why she did not look pregnant. Wasn’t her baby daughter due to be born very soon?

After tea had been served IS took me for a wee dance away from the crowd in an effort to cheer me up after my conference shame. When the conversation turned to the Archers I had to shut him up quickly. I hadn’t heard a single episode for over a week and didn’t want him to spoil my plans to listen on catch-up later.

Unfortunately neither Victoria Beckham nor IS could retrieve my next conference calamity. We were driving north with speakers and equipment in a barrel trailer towed behind our car. The trailer dislodged on a bend, spun over the road, bounced across a field, and fell over a cliff to shatter on the rocks below.

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Paul the cobra and the early history of punk (Rousse)

Posted on July 8, 2011 by Dreamaticus

When our friends from the Isle of Lewis popped in to see us in Edinburgh they brought two pets with them. Paddy the black and white collie dog bounded round the house in excitement. Meanwhile, attracted by the smell of maple syrup, Paul the cobra slipped down the corner drain in the front yard. When the ginger-bearded window and shutter cleaner outside confirmed that Paul had disappeared I worried that we would never see him again. It eventually turned out that my concerns were unfounded. Paul the cobra soon returned. Following his little adventure underground, he slid into the house and curled up to sleep in the round metal vegetable basket positioned by the porch door. He looked perfectly harmless. In fact, when I examined him more closely I realised that he was not a snake at all, but a bright green cloth draught excluder that had been tidied away to the wrong place.

Later it was revealed that our former ironing man was a highly sought commentator on the early history of punk. If only we knew where he could be found…

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Will Belle’s birds bring Chris Packham?

Posted on July 7, 2011 by Dreamaticus

At the bottom of the garden, in a simple nest attached to the wall, I found a family of the world’s smallest birds. No bigger than my thumb nail, and elaborately enamelled, these tiny metallic birds sould surely attract Chris Packham to my house.

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Belle the revolutionary

Posted on July 6, 2011 by Dreamaticus

As I was standing at the junction of a wide, London street, I wondered why this excited crowd was gathering. Eventually an open-top carriage came by with an aristocratic wedding party seated within. The crowd cheered. After the carriage had passed I addressed the crowd. “Come the revolution they will be the first against the wall”. Although I was simply stating fact, the crowd turned on me.

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Sting serenades Belle (Rousse)

Posted on July 6, 2011 by Dreamaticus

Everything associated with Belle was new, including her fabulous apartment and hunk of a boyfriend. While Sting serenaded her from the courtyard below, I pondered the identity of the sulky teenager in the corner. We ended the night by each tucking into a bag of crisps, despite being fully aware that this would not help our diet.

With another bunch of friends we were discussing death. I announced my intention to be buried beside TF. The others asked why. “Because”, I replied, “he is the most honest person I know”.

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Tom Cruise seeks relationship advice and attempts to convert Rousse at restaurant

Posted on July 4, 2011 by Dreamaticus

My sister J was completely unfazed when I admitted at the restaurant table that I had taken up smoking. She confessed that she had done the same, then leant over and cheekily helped herself to two cigarettes from my pack. Meanwhile our primary school friend NC pretended that he wasn’t listening and stared at his salad a little longer.

Our table was sandwiched between the two factions of the Cruise-Holmes family, with Mr and Mrs Holmes senior and their daughter Katie on one table, and Tom Cruise with a rather over-weight and sulky teen-aged Suri at the other. Suddenly Tom Cruise stood up from his seat, turned to me and started a conversation about his ex-girlfriend Olivia. This was very confusing. Did Tom Cruise go out with Olivia Newton-John at some point? How did I miss this? I could only respond with the apology that although I was a fan of his work, I regretted that I knew little about his love life, nor anything specific about his many girlfriends (or even boyfriends for that matter). To make up for this, I wrapped my arms around him in comfort and was quite surprised to discover a bony frame beneath his smart suit jacket.

Tom then led me away from the dining area to a small room at the back of the restaurant where he requested “a word”. I had a feeling that this would happen: he was going to attempt to convert me to Scientology. When I refused he screeched that I was “a redhead and a whore”, then changed form into a evil-looking little old lady with a shock of faded ginger hair. I ran back into the restaurant and she followed at speed. I had to escape her, so I turned around, grabbed her by the waist, and flung her into a chair. We all watched in awe at this last phase of the transformation as Tom Cruise was turned into an tiny inanimate rag doll.

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Belle’s box of chocolates

Posted on July 2, 2011 by Dreamaticus

As the guest of a complete stranger at a dinner party in New York, I was pleased to receive a box of ‘Green and Blacks’ chocolates called Flavours of the Forest. I ignored the ‘acorn cluster’ but got very excited by the ‘hawthorn cream’.

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Sir Paul McCartney in stand-off with serial adulterer

Posted on July 2, 2011 by Dreamaticus

Sir Paul McCartney was completely taken aback by the accusation that he did little to support the British music industry. As TPR berated him in public, the former Beatle took on the appearance of an ordinary little grey-haired old man, powerless to respond.

This was just the latest in a series of episodes in which I was beginning to question why I tolerated marriage to TPR. He was certainly a very attractive man for his age, but I did not approve of his picking on the elderly, nor romancing just about every woman with whom he came into contact. There was clear evidence that he had already worked his way round every female member of staff at his office (including a full-blown affair with someone called Julie), and now rumours were circulating that he had embarked on the conquest of each his colleagues’ wives.

Paul McCartney elsewhere on Dreamaticus:

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A car park reunion and worthy hotel labour (Rousse)

Posted on July 1, 2011 by Dreamaticus

It had been quite a while since I’d seen school friend ST so I was delighted when we were reunited in the car park. I dared myself to invite him to join me for lunch and was astonished and grateful when he agreed. I also wondered whether the time had come when I should finally confess how often he visited me in my dreams? After all, I could never be certain when I would next see him. Once again I chickened out and instead gave him a guided tour of my red Fiat Stilo.

Another day I was back in the US in another huge chain hotel where TPR was attending a conference. Strangely we had separate rooms and could only communicate by the hotel phone system. However, the great advantage of this arrangement was that I found peace to work. I looked down on the other wives and partners who, I noticed with horror, were so irresponsible that they started their day of doing absolutely nothing downing tumblers of red wine.

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