The Paris Apple iwatch thief (Rousse)

When we rented a one-bedroomed studio holiday apartment in Paris, we didn’t expect that it would be open to other visitors day and night, and completely insecure.

The thief who stole my iwatch cleverly replaced it with another watch of the same size with an almost identical black face. This meant that I didn’t immediately notice the switch. When I did, I was distraught.

I was therefore extremely relieved when a woman revealed to me that she had found my iwatch in her locked locker.

The stranger handed over the iwatch, turned on her heel, and disappeared down the street into the tourist crowds. She moved so quickly that we missed the opportunity to question her about her discovery of stolen goods.

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Undergraduate accommodation options (Rousse)

Student finances were so tight that the university accommodation choice for the typical undergraduate student boiled down to:

  1. A very expensive traditional room in hall
  2. A ‘blow-up bedroom’ – effectively a blow-up mattress inside a tiny tent
  3. ‘Suitcase sleeping’ – officially two students per suitcase, although many tried to cram in more as a money-saving tactic

I expected TPR to go for option 1, but I couldn’t find him anywhere in hall. I later learnt that he had moved in with his Uncle Ray and had no desire ever to see me again.

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Uninvited garden vandals (Rousse)

What a sight greeted me when I opened the back door!

Someone had bored a massive circular 20 foot deep hole in the centre of the lawn, most likely using the heavy duty digger that stood against the wall next to the street. There were also piles and piles of rubble all over the flower beds.

I identified a foreman skulking beside the wall that we shared with our next door neighbour. I asked him for the identity of those who had vandalised my beautiful garden.

‘My team’, he replied, ‘following the instructions of the family in the ground floor flat.’

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Nicking a notebook, a nightclub, and finding photos from the 1980s (Rousse)

The brand new thick red-covered notebook on my mother-in-law’s kitchen table was ideal for my assessment task. I grabbed a black Sharpie pen, then very neatly wrote the title of my work on the cover.

Almost as soon as I popped the lid back on the pen, I experienced shame for claiming the property of my niece F. I sought her out, apologised, and offered to take her shopping to buy her a bigger, better, replacement notebook. We devised a plan that would accommodate the 16 year-old’s Saturday nightclub visit and overnight stay in Brighton.

I needed some shots of France in the 1980s to include in my notebook. Back home I asked TPR (lying on the kitchen table) to find some images for me from his massive photo archive.

His grumpy reply was both irritating and embarrassing. Did he really need to speak so rudely to me? And why do so in front of JM, who was busy cooking supper at our house while HAA ‘s flat in Woodpecker Street was out of action.

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Secret old lady’s clothes stash discovered in toddler’s bedroom (Rousse)

Just when we thought that I had dealt with all my mother’s personal effects following her death, I discovered a small chest of drawers stuffed with some of her clothes – in the bedroom of a small blonde child that we were babysitting.

TPR and I emptied the drawers and laid the contents on the floor. I recognised most of the garments. However, I was surprised to find amongst them several new items. These were most likely NWT purchases from charity shops. A couple were suitable for me so I stuffed them into my bag.

The identity of the person who had hidden this stash soon became obvious. A clear plastic bag amongst the clothes crammed with screws, pins, a full pack of wine gums, and half a roll of Refreshers convinced us that the culprit was my sister S.

When we met my other sister J to tell her of our discovery, I had another surprise. She’d slimmed down to a size 8 and was dressed in a top, skirt, tights and shoes all the same insipid colour (pale butterscotch).

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Ignored by Canadians (Rousse)

At my cousin’s farm in Somerset, I shared JB’s bath water and TPR sorted out our Mac accessories while the Canadian branch of the family ignored us.

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Anonymous author anger (Rousse)

My research group made its home on a single floor of a 1970s high rise. Although the building’s exterior was ugly, we did well to make the inside cosy with antique furniture and carefully positioned ornaments.

Everyone seemed happy enough until the day that we received an anonymous letter about a recently completed PhD thesis. FR and I soon worked out that LK was accusing JM of failing to reference Scottish Government publications on page 164. LK took this as a personal slight since she was the author of all the ‘missing’ sources.

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Rainbow clown wigged lawyer granny keeps avocado green toilet in her sitting room (Rousse)

My lawyer paternal grandmother was a stunner, even when wearing her rainbow clown wig. It was a pity that she barely practised law these days, largely due to the frailties of old age.

Changes to her lifestyle were evident in several modifications to her bungalow. For example, the house had been stripped of most of its furniture and ornaments, and where a coal scuttle once stood on the hearth in the sitting room there was now a convenient avocado green toilet.

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A ruined antique, a banana loaf, and paperwork for Holy Island (Rousse)

Almost as soon as I did it, I knew that I should have never plonked a red hot Le Creuset casserole dish on the top of a highly polished antique mahogany sideboard. Sure enough, I’d instantly made a nasty circular scorch mark in the wood. To make matters worse, I couldn’t find a single French polisher listed in the tiny volume of the Yellow Pages (printed on white paper, bizarrely).

When my sister J joined us for lunch, she offered not an ounce of sympathy for the plight of the furniture. Instead, she thrust a still-warm homemade banana loaf into my hands, then made herself comfortable in the sitting room.

Later, I spoke on the phone to my (dead of seven years) father. He discussed at length various admin issues related to Holy Island. Then he apparently wandered off, leaving the phone line open, never to return.

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Jonathan Ross seeks flat and recognition in Edinburgh (Rousse)

Jonathan Ross stood in my study and spoke with excitement of the prospect of buying a flat in Edinburgh. I suggested that he step away from the window to avoid the risk of drawing the attention of passers-by.

‘You must hate this aspect of celebrity life’ I sympathised.

‘On the contrary’ replied Ross, ‘I love it.’

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