NP was seriously considering TW’s suggestion that they walk ‘The needle’ in January. Neither had the fitness nor skills to tackle this treacherous ridge near Ullapool under winter conditions.
I hoped that my pleas would put them off such a reckless venture.
My (deceased) mother accidentally loaded the tumble dryer with a pile of dirty laundry and a cup of soap powder. Before she switched it on, I retrieved all the clothes and carried them in a bundle to Corbridge.
On the outskirts of the village I found my (also deceased) paternal grandmother living in a handsome stone house next to a field of Shetland ponies. I complained to my granny about the mix-up with the washing.
I also questioned my granny about the appearance of my mother. What business did she have interfering in my domestic duties, especially since she was dead?
MB’s mother IB and I blagged our way into Edinburgh’s exclusive New Club and cantered up the stairs to the top floor. With very little effort, we then gatecrashed a lunch served to a small group of delegates who had just completed an embroidery course.
We very much enjoyed our illicit, and most delicious, handmade hamburgers and salad.
OC-I broke the rules by bringing meat sandwiches on the pilgrimage. He really had to get rid of them before we reached the hotel at the end of the route.
He suggested that he could dig a hole in the ground and bury them. I wondered why he didn’t just eat them. I even volunteered to help with this task.
Later I saw my school friend JT outside ST’s bedroom. She’d heard that I had broken the rules, and asked whether I was ready for my interview with the police.
PB volunteered to take over where JG-T left off. I sent him the instructions to meet in a quiet corridor of the British Library. He should bring all the equipment, including the foreign coins parcelled up in stapled packs made from old brown envelopes. I was very excited as I travelled to the venue for our midnight rendezvous.
I was so disappointed when I reached ‘our’ corridor. PB was nowhere to be seen. He had bottled out.
I was broken-hearted when TPR finally admitted what I had suspected all along: he had a lover and was planning to leave me. The killer detail was that the pair of them had joined the tennis club together. Why would he do that for her, but never for me?
Of course I harboured my own dark secret. Several years ago, I had taken SL as my wife. I now deeply regretted this bigamous act, especially since I was never really in love with SL.
PC listened as I related my tale of woe at the counter of the café that he ran in his retirement. He concluded that I needed to act fast and pursue two divorces simultaneously.
Aged 25, and after several exam attempts, I was finally admitted to the University of Cambridge as a medical student. My mother and sister S came with me to Cambridge on my first day to help me settle in. They waved me off in the early evening as I headed to the dining hall to meet my fellow students for the first time.
I was rather disappointed that you had to walk through a bookshop en route to dinner. Did every aspect of higher education these days need to be so obviously commericialised? My other complaint was the state of the toilets. Whoever thought that open cubicles and a lack of gender segregation were a good idea?
I sat at the vast picture window to admire the autumn colours across the valley below. Although we missed city living, I loved our new house in the country.
I was also very proud of my new wardrobe. Inside it, I had organised all my clothes by colour. These included a huge number of brand new, very expensive, chiffon blouses.
Also stored in the wardrobe was the pink knitwear that I had stolen the day that TPR gave away my bike to a needy family. If this child was getting my bike, I was entitled to something in return. ‘The mother won’t miss a couple of cardigans’, I thought on the day that the deal was done.
I climbed out of bed and stepped across the room to open the shutters. Outside our bedroom window I saw a small dog in a bright red Santa jacket nosing through the vegetable patch, and a man – presumably the dog’s owner – levitating six feet above the lawn in a horizontal pose.
By the time that TPR joined me at the window, the man and dog had vanished. In their place was a female fox and her four cubs, all busy digging up the flower beds. The fox family took fright the moment that they realised that we were watching them. They scarpered over the back wall and escaped into the next garden.
Another set of intruders replaced the foxes. These were my gym pal RR, her teenage daughter, and a toddler. RR refused to tell me how they accessed the garden. When she and her children made no move to leave, I insisted that they follow me through the house and out onto the street through our front door. Instead RR used her strong arm and leg muscles to scale the wall next to the fruit trees, with the children in her wake.
I chased after them, falling into RR’s carefully laid trap. Still dressed only in my pyjamas, I found myself on a ferry heading towards a remote Scottish island. Without a phone or any cash, I had no means of alerting TPR of my whereabouts.
RR, outside on the deck enjoying a joke with fellow passengers, was unlikely to help me. My only triumph was to steal her grey padded jacket when she was not looking. At least I’d be warm when we reached our final destination.
When I left the lobby of the the modern tower block to cross the busy road, I shuddered as the cold of the paving slabs hit the soles of my feet. There was no time to take the lift back up the building to search for my shoes on the floor that now hosted my old department, so I continued on my way to the restaurant with the intention of buying a cheap replacement pair of shoes en route.
The first mini-mart that I saw offered cheap flip-flops and slippers for sale. I grabbed a pair from the rack and was about to pay for them when I remembered that my own shoes were in my rucksack. I apologised to the shopkeeper and continued on my way, my feet now properly clod.
The restaurant was very quiet as a venue for the staff Christmas party. At one table there were three people seated, but all the rest were empty. MS called me over to join him and the two others, explaining that only four people had signed up for the celebration.
Then he unbuttoned the left cuff of his shirt, and rolled up his sleeve. With great pride, he showed off the start of his latest tattoo. Even though it was unfinished, I could easily identify the outline of an unhusked corn cob.
Dreamaticus 