First I was nearly trampled by a herd of black cattle running away from a swarm of flies.
Then I got caught up in MS’s fishing line, with multiple tiny hooks embedded in the white flesh of my left arm.
It was not a good day to be ‘enjoying’ the great outdoors.
It was Belle’s birthday. She invited us all to go to the cinema with her.
While we were queuing to pay for our tickets, I noticed a poster for a post-film pub quiz. I was keen to take part in this with everyone else. However, the end time was too late for me: my last train home left long before 10pm.
I wondered out loud whether Belle might invite me to spend the night at her place, ostensibly to join the pub quiz. In reality, my heart’s desire was to steal some precious extra hours with my dear friend, together alone.
Donald Trump’s fall from power was so great that he now worked in advertising sales for David Elstein’s media empire. My good friend JM also worked for Elstein, so gave me access to the once ‘great’ man.
One day I took advantage of my connection to the former president and chatted to him about his future plans. He lapped up all the attention, especially since most of his workmates actively ignored him whenever possible. Very subtly, I brought him round to the question of the next presidential election. Would he stand? It seemed that he would, and the scoop was mine.
One of the other colleagues told me that he was about to leave the company. He asked if I could pass a parting gift on to JM, who out of the office that day. I willingly took the small square plate of steel, engraved with words of admiration and thanks for JM. JM’s soon-to-be former colleague proudly told me that he had composed the string of kind words all by himself.
I took the coach to Ape World with a bunch of school friends. All were in the same form as me, but with the exception of KM, they were in a different class. Amongst my travelling companions were Dippy Dawn and Loopy Lorraine, and a couple of scary school bullies.
My first impression of Ape World was one of great disappointment. With its sticky carpets and forlorn displays, it gave the impression of a cross between a Wetherspoons pub and a once state-of-the-art, but long since abandoned, museum.
I wandered through three of the four main halls – ‘Human world’, ‘Nature world’, and ‘Animal world’ – completely unimpressed by the static models and the dull text that accompanied them. When I reached the entrance to the fourth, I hesitated at the sound of animal screeches and human screams. Were those real apes behind the dark panels? What were they doing to the unseen museum visitors? Was the main attraction to be chased by primates through dark corridors?
I was not prepared to find out. Instead I wandered upstairs to join my Canadian cousins NT and DT, and hunt down some lunch.
At the top of the hill, I jumped off the bike and passed it to PMF. This was because I was too scared to negotiate the steep incline on the other side. He would ride, and I would run behind him.
Our destination was P and C’s new holiday home. They had bought a flat above a shop in a village just outside Manchester. I couldn’t work out whether the permanent funfair that ran every weekend in the ground directly opposite the flat was a bonus, or a terrible post-purchase shock.
The shop below sold cut-price Highland Stoneware seconds. This counted as an advantage of the location – at least to me.
I was out for my afternoon walk when I saw a pasty shirtless teenage boy dancing salsa with a middle aged woman. He was twirling her around and calling out the steps – “One, two, THREE, four”, and she was spinning and laughing. As I got closer I realised the teenager was Bobby from King of the Hill.
The next afternoon, there he was again, teaching a different woman. I approached slowly and realised he was a terrible dancer, and an awful teacher. Yet here he was, wobbling around the mews with a delighted partner. What body confidence, I thought bitterly. How long would it be before I was begging Bobby to teach me how to dance really badly?
Four inches of water lay across the floor of every lift in the office building. This explained the new fashion for work footwear: green wellies.
My sister S revealed that she too had undertaken doctoral studies, so why did she not use the title ‘Doctor’?
She confessed that she had submitted her work and passed her viva examination, but couldn’t be bothered to deal with the minor corrections to her thesis. She therefore never graduated with a PhD.
A tall French woman in a long white cotton dress stood perplexed on a platform at Edinburgh Waverley railway station. When I offered to help her, she held up her phone to me to display her train ticket. She complained that she couldn’t find the service to Sheffield at the time specified on her device.
‘That’s because your ticket is from Sheffield to Edinburgh, and not the other way round. The time you have here is the time that the Sheffield train departs for Edinburgh’, I said in French. ‘When we board the Sheffield train later, I can explain to the guard the mistake that you made when booking your ticket. If you are lucky, he won’t charge you for a replacement.’
Our new friend Julianne boarded the train and sat opposite us in the same carriage. I hoped that she couldn’t follow our conversation in English as TPR started to confess all his brothel visits to me.
I cycled miles and miles across the US.
The most terrifying part was on the inside lane on the freeways; the most adventurous through dense forests, where the trees and the sky were my only company.
Dreamaticus 