Kellmdam

I am out for lunch with my old work colleague Gee Ess – indeed, this is if if we are still in our previous employ – and 2 a.n.others (of which one is yet to arrive). We are taking them to the Village Curry House in Tradeston, Glasgow and are to be seated outside at the rear of the restaurant (a dreamescape invention). This area is made from red monoblock paving that is square-ish in shape and curved at the furthest corners, a small raised section forming a boundary with the neighbouring residential property, their outdoor space being an exact mirror of the Village's. It is around 3pm and as expected the restaurant is quiet but the outdoor seating is messy and disorganised. Our table is right at the boundary and seats six, two each side and one at each end/head. Gee sits on the left with his back to the house and the other attendee – the fourth has still not arrived – sits diagonally across to the right, facing the neighbour's. It seems to be up to me to tidy up – although a mustachioed Indian man (the manager?) shuffles furniture around – and I use a long spoon-shaped carpet sweeper to suck up crumbs, made all the more difficult by the appliance's tiny brush tip (and my spending some time trying to figure out to access it to empty the contents)-

Our starter arrives, a large plate heaped with fat spicy sausages. Around this time several people emerge from the house across the back, chatting loudly and having a few drinks. Whether it's down to our proximity to the boundary or the alcohol being consumed (or not) an argument breaks out. One of the party people is the Danish actor Mads Mikkelsen, who sports long, near-shoulder length hair, swept back, and large aviator-style glasses – I remember thinking 'he's short sighted just like me'. He is accompanied by a dumpy lady with a black bob haircut. I say to Mads, “I'm sorry we didn't mean to upset the Swedish”, and admit to Gee shortly thereafter – following Mads kicking off – that I was simply trolling him-

Later Mads is up angry in my face, frustrated that I keep responding with “Yow” and “Nay”, and asking me, “what is that?!” (being my attempt at an Icelandic 'yes' and 'no'-

Gretanto

I seem to be undertaking pub quizzes – I'm looking for the third establishment on my list, having already won £25. Consulting my newspaper clipping I eventually locate the place and, after a bit of searching, the quiz (master). It's £10 entry and there's only ten questions. I do okay, my answers mostly overheard from the surrounding participants, two nearby older ladies in particular, the ninth question's answer is (the singer) Bjork, and the tenth being, “What happens (right) here on the thirtieth of August?” (which somehow, by a process of oblique mental filtering, I know)-

I win £9.01(?) and am quite happy if confused by the fact. The film actor Taron Egerton and his pal are not so pleased. They seat themselves at my table and endlessly labour their point, not satisfied that an “outsider” won (something). Taron softens his approach as I calmly make my point, but his friend on my right is harder to convince. Am I hoping to make the train with my former work colleague Ayy Gee or will she arrive and assist me in my argument?-

Anvlisa

I am sitting to the left of Ayy Cee, a lady co-co-worker. We're not in the same team, just on a 'hello' basis, and we are joking together. I have to check back on the previous year's registered cases. She talks about how hard I/we work and tells me that shares(?) in the company have gone up from 30 (somethings) to 80 (somethings), alluding to the fact we'll never see any benefit ourselves in spite of our toil – so why toil? The record book of the previous year is long and rectangular and, having taken off the clear plastic shrink-wrap, seems to consist of three lengthy biscuits separated by two intermediate layers of thick white cream. I peel off the first biscuit to open the book(?) and examine the figures-

Roprovd

I am at the house of my old primary and secondary school friend Arr Pee. In the dreamescape his family live in a huge isolated farmhouse-style home. At the time of my visit – am I nervous due to our teen falling-out? - it is the depths of winter and I keep getting recurring mental snapshots of the snow covered house, sitting cosy in the chilly landscape. Together with Arr's younger brother Gee we look at four new Christmas cushions they have bought, plump and square with a cut out of an animal in the fabric in the centre (or thereabouts) that allows you to see the fluffy internal stuffing – the cushion I am handling is of a deer or reindeer. This is quite unique and perplexing. Arr's father – again I am nervous of his opinion of me – is (to my surprise) most welcoming, inviting me out to join him/them while they walk their red setter dog. I politely decline, sensing absolutely no animosity towards me by this response-