Sainsbury’s supermarket misdemeanour results in hefty fine (Rousse)

Posted on November 14, 2020 by Dreamaticus

I was already way behind schedule for the arrival of our dinner guests (CM, VAE and possibly her sister), and now I found myself stuck in the Sainsbury’s checkout queue.

I considered all the raw ingredients for supper that were staring out at me from the trolley and wondered when I would ever get the meal to the table. The only way for me to make up some time was to prepare the fruit and vegetables here and now in the supermarket.

I reached for a knife and made a start on peeling the potatoes. Then I chopped the apples. This was going well!

However, I paid for my hasty food preparation antics when I reached the head of the queue. As punishment for opening the good prior to payment, the shop manager added a fine of 10% of the value of the contents of my trolley to my grocery bill.

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Librarians infiltrate 10 Downing Street (Rousse)

Posted on November 12, 2020 by Dreamaticus

I thought that I was being interviewed for the post of Librarian at Loughborough University. In fact, it was for the role of second in command. I’d be taking over from a suited man who was returning to work at 10 Downing Street.

The members of the interview panel were not terribly interested in me, especially when a news story broke about ructions in the cabinet. They all rushed from the board room table to the nearest television screen. They stood before it transfixed for the rest of the afternoon, the interview forgotten.

I sloped off along a golden tree-lined avenue in the autumn sunshine to catch my train home again. They’d missed their chance of employing me. I wasn’t that bothered. I would have much rather taken the job at the University of Sheffield.

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Caribbean boat wreck survivor (Rousse)

Posted on November 2, 2020 by Dreamaticus

I was one of the lucky one. When the wave overturned the open boat, I remembered the drill to kick of my boots, discard my hat, stuff my glasses into my pocket, and then swim until I found a float of some description.

Attached to a log, I eventually washed up on a Caribbean beach, much to the surprise of two women sunbathing in 1960s bikinis.

In the heat, I walked to the nearest resort village in search of a taxi driver who would take me home.

It was a great relief to have survived the wreck, but I worried about my friend JC and colleague GW. There was bound to some sort of enquiry since none of us had been wearing (nor were even offered) life jackets.

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Donald Trump the thief and Boris Johnston the fool (Rousse)

Posted on October 29, 2020 by Dreamaticus

I was being courted by two world leaders.

First Donald Trump wanted to do business me. I agreed to an audience with him. He looked so much younger than he appeared in the media, and spoke kindly without his grating American accent.  I almost liked him – until he showed me the calculator that he had stolen from the last man that had he met, and I realised that this was not Donald Trump the president of the US, but his son.

Boris Johnson was also annoying, but more for being childish rather than criminal. When SM heard that the Prime Minister was in my kitchen he dropped everything to rush round and meet him.

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Middle-aged Swedish lesbian spoon art (Rousse)

Posted on October 25, 2020 by Dreamaticus

My preparations for the World War II commemoration competition was going well. I had already produced a two page A4 document using a selection of inks in a rainbow of colours and my beautiful handwriting, I was confident that I had a good chance of a win.

To make this more of a certainty, I needed to accessorise the envelope for my entry. Where could I buy patriotic stickers or commemorative stamps?

When I entered the post office, I interrupted the two postmistresses mid-conversation in their native language. They were happy to sell me some stamps, but when it came to pay  I realised that I had no cash on me.

‘Not to worry’ said the older of the two middle-aged grey-haired lesbian Swedes. ‘I’ll just make a record that you will come back later with payment’.

To do so, she whipped out a wooden spoon, a jar of orangey syrup, and a fine brush. Then she painted an image of my face on the broad part of the spoon, complete with long sticky strands of syrup down the edges to depict my long hair. I promised to return as soon as I had found my purse.

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A sunblock bottle hoarder in dip-dye blue jeans (Rousse)

Posted on October 22, 2020 by Dreamaticus

I challenged my sister J, who had always claimed that she was not a hoarder.

Why did she keep a collection of empty orange plastic sunblock bottles? There were at least 15 on her shelf, some of which dated from the 1980s.

Also, someone needed to tell her that my old dip-dye blue jeans did not flatter her figure.

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North Sea cello concert (Rousse)

Posted on October 20, 2020 by Dreamaticus

At dawn on the last day of my holiday, I walked down to the shoreline of the cold grey North Sea. Already there were several brave souls in the water. Most were taking an early morning dip dressed only in skimpy swim suits. Others were rowing boats across the bay. I was not even brave enough to dip a toe in the water.

I returned to the hotel and met JG. He took me and TPR to the concert hall where our mutual friend RA was performing in his first ever cello concert. I hadn’t seen RA for years, but he had barely changed: he looked 60 even when when in his twenties. He was not happy when I made mention of this.

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Falling in love with a puppeteer and hill tapestry (Rousse)

Posted on October 17, 2020 by Dreamaticus

My true love was a puppeteer. When his marriage of three decades collapsed due to the arrival of two very late children, he finally found me.

My new man opened my eyes to art forms that I had never know before. My favourite was hill tapestry. We visited the open moorlands to admire the massive feats of embroidery stitched on canvases that replicated the form of the hills. For their sheer size and artistry, these creations well and truly put the feeble efforts of the Bayeux Tapestry to shame.

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Lost in a forest, all alone (Rousse)

Posted on October 15, 2020 by Dreamaticus

It was alright for the sheep that wanted to reach the pasture from the shoreline. They simply ran across the single track road, then leapt up the cliff-face, skilfully securing their feet in rocky nooks and crannies on their ascent. I had to take the long way round up the slope of the road and into the field through the gate.

But then I found a short cut through a small wood. I would be with TPR sooner than I thought. I worked my way through the trees, hanging on to handy branches when the steep path narrowed. I didn’t appreciate, however, the growing density of the wood, and the darkness that came with this. Soon I was lost in the forest, all alone.

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Paul McCartney confesses nothing (Rousse)

Posted on October 13, 2020 by Dreamaticus

Now that I had Paul McCartney’s confidence, I risked a few words about my aunt. He was more than happy to talk, but had no memory whatsoever of their teenage relationship, nor the dedication of PS I love you.

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