I travelled all the way to Newcastle by cargo bike. Almost at my journey’s end, at Haymarket another cyclist rode up to tell me that I had lost my cargo, and that I had a flat tyre.
I was grateful that my phone and purse were in the inside pocket of my bright yellow cycling jacket. One phone call later, ever-reliable TPR came to the rescue.
I was walking down a tree-lined street and autumn leaves were falling around me. Admiring this spectacle, I noticed that one of the leaves was in fact a £50 note. As I tried to catch it, it was caught by the breeze and I began chasing it. It danced in front of my face and flew away again. I picked up speed and eventually I caught up with it at the end of the street. It simply fell into my outstretched hand and I thanked it for choosing me.
Both my mother and TPR were released from their respective care homes for the day.
My mother was in particularly fine fettle. She was able to keep up with my father’s walking pace – albeit at a distance – and cogent enough to understand the reasons why she no longer lived at home. TPR’s sudden decline into dementia was much more worrying.
Meanwhile my sister S was working with a librarian in a secret meeting to track down details of the 1970s green and white flowered china that I was keen to collect. I was somewhat miffed not to be included in the discussions, especially given my qualifications for the role.
While everyone else was occupied, LvZ approached me for an interview. They hoped to bring back the annual online conference and I would be one of the key attractions. LvZ pressed down two buttons on the old-fashioned tape recorder and listened intently as it put down my memories.
It was soon time for me to deliver my mother and TPR back to their care home accommodation so I rushed off to find the pair of them. I made a mental note to the tell the manager that I didn’t approve of the huge sawn-off-at-the-shoulder bloodied arm that lay on the grass right next to the care home entrance.
To save time in costume changes, TPR wore both his outfits simultaneously. To the left he was an navvy in a brown overall; to the right he was a Victorian gentleman.
He dressed like this all day, even when looking after DM’s grandchildren.
Our lodger FR hadn’t quite got the hang of our kitchen. She crammed far too much blue and white crockery into the glass-fronted cupboards, then cleared a drawer to store a single cake. More annoying, she didn’t clean up after baking bread. Now all the surfaces, including the kitchen floor, were covered in lumps of sticky dough – just as we were expecting our guests to arrive.
Most at the party were my former work colleagues. These included ED, PC and WD, plus GR and his mother. Some people I recognised, but could not name. I served them burnt prawns and carbonised sausages.
Meanwhile TPR was absent, opting to spend the day with his lover. I wondered whether I should retaliate by spending more time with PC?
I was expelled from my aquafit class for making 16 errors in the morning’s routine.
(I had also worn my outdoor shoes at the poolside – a much greater crime in my books – but nobody seemed to have noticed.)
While TPR insisted that our marriage was over, he offered me a consolation prize. From the back seat of the car, he told me that his predecessor ST was currently available.
I was travelling on the upper deck of a old-fashioned red London bus when I realised two things simultaneously. A teenage Prince William was sitting in a seat in front of me, and we were being sprayed with bullets from outside. I leapt out of my seat and pushed William, head first, onto the floor before throwing myself on top of him. “I’m not even a royalist”, I yelled.
When the danger was over, the bus had turned into a tour bus and I was hugging my favourite musician, Ren. He was really not into this, and I was forced to kiss him on the cheek and retreat.
My planned move to the US would be an adventure, although not without regret. I knew, for example, that I would miss the pals that I left behind in the UK.
‘Please don’t worry about us’, actress Julia Roberts assured me. ‘You and I will always remain best friends, wherever you end up’.
Dreamaticus 