What a coincidence! I came out of an all-night film show to come face-to-face with Albert Finney. While he was not the star of the main movie, he did feature in one of the adverts shown during the intermission.
When we chatted about his performance, Finney admitted that he was not terribly proud of it. He expressed regret that his career had floundered to the point that he was forced to accept work on commercials.
The soles of my Crocs had been wearing thin for some time so I was not surprised that a hole appeared in the right one. Now I needed to confirm the colour of my replacement pair, and work out the best way to place to buy: in the UK, US, or Canada.
I had something else on my mind. I was taking part in a sleep-out and had not yet decided on the tent that I would use. I had an offer from SM’s family, but it was unclear as to whether all five of us would sleep in the same space, or I would have a canvas ‘room’ of my very own.
My mother-in-law stood at the top of the grassy slope, dishing out investment advice in a very loud voice. Meanwhile, in the distance, I could see my former colleagues holding their Wednesday afternoon research meeting.
At the conclusion of the meeting, the participants came towards us – some on foot, some on bicycles. All but one completely ignored me. The single exception was a former PhD student. She explained that the colleagues did not appreciate my mother-in-law’s interruptions to their business.
Queen drummer Roger Taylor played the saw as a publicity stunt for my sister J.
Since I couldn’t visit the property to check in person, I reckoned that the best way to audit my mother’s belongings for the house contents insurance renewal was to dream myself there. TPR agreed to ‘come’ with me, and we combined the trip with a meet-up with our university friends SPL and HJ, and SC.
It was much easier than envisaged to reach the house in our reveries, and soon I was wandering through the rooms, pen in hand, noting down the details of each item of furniture and artwork. I found familiar pieces such as a rocking chair that I once thought was enormous, and new (to me) objects such as a child’s high chair. Other surprises included a fridge full of yoghourt, a fox playing on the lawn (seen through the siting room window and which drove our own collie mad), and an encounter with S as she left quietly to take G to school.
We didn’t see anything of SEH because she was asleep in bed upstairs. SPL also went missing in action, preferring to spend her time inside our dreams with climate activists from the Isle of Man.
My sister stood up and introduced her publication to the guests seated at round tables in the conference room. After she waved the folio-sized book in the air, I did the same with my own latest output. My sister was clearly very annoyed, and everyone else rather surprised. I sat down again, sheepishly.
Afterwards an authoritative man in a suit called Paul approached me. He asked why my sister’s talents had not been directed to improving the standard of primary health care in the UK.
TPR was in a filthy mood. He expressed his anger by driving the tiny car at top speeds through highland villages, egging on the motorists that were approaching from the opposite direction to race him through roadworks.
He eventually dumped SPL and me at a lecture hall in Manchester. Even though we sat amongst a bunch of lounging students at the back, the lecturer soon spotted SPL as an easy target for his party trick: hypnotising a member of his audience. She willingly went under. Meanwhile I cowered.
My sister SEH blew into our flat like a hurricane, dumping her belongings in the study and demanding food.
I noticed that she was wearing a lot of gold jewellery, including several ruby rings across both of her hands. Were these family pieces? Should they really be shared out amongst the three sisters?
After a minor tussle, she agreed that I could take a couple of rings. The two that she selected were damaged, but I was confident that they would be easy to repair.
Then she pulled a photograph album off the shelving above the futon and we laughed at old photographs of long-dead family members. Who knew that they were all so fat?
SM nodded at the screen and – sure enough – the hilarious comic actor was him, albeit a younger and slightly fatter version.
None of us knew that while he was building his career as a surgeon in the 1990s, SM had a demanding second role in light entertainment.
Dreamaticus 