Castle walls, cake, and equestrians (Rousse)

I was learning how to climb the castle ramparts wearing a pilfered riding hat for protection when a bunch of equestrians came looking for their kit.

My teacher – a rough lad mounted on a white stallion that could scale vertical walls – told me to ignore them. This was somewhat of a challenge when I spotted that the equestrians were bearing cake, and included in their number my school friends EF (was D) and AR (was H).

I also was keen to discover where AR had bought her gorgeous black and tan silk dress.

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Corpse ‘reborn’ at circuits class (Rousse)

My long-dead friend BT turned up to my Wednesday circuits class.

I wondered how he would cope with the intensity of the exercises having been buried underground for over 25 years.

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A fabulous doctoral defence finale (Rousse)

In a change to usual practice, all doctoral degree candidates now defended their theses in a classroom in front of the whole school.

When it was XX’s turn, the chair realised that he had a conflict of interest with the candidate.

‘Never mind’, he said ‘The student can chair himself’.

I objected to this, telling him that a PhD student doesn’t toil for 3+ years to this high point of the doctoral journey only to find that the staff are not taking the examination seriously.

I approached audience member GR to ask him to take over as chair. He agreed, then immediately passed the role on to SC. With all the arrangements now in place, XX took to the stage and I popped to the loo.

As I walked back to the classroom, I could hear whoops, cheers, and laughter as XX entertained his enthralled audience. When he stepped down from the stage with an admission that he hadn’t looked at his thesis in years, we all thought that the show was over. We were wrong.

XX’s PowerPoint slides switched to footage of him in pair of red underpants embracing an older man. His figure then leapt out of the screen, pursued by a different old man wearing a brown leather dress. The pair of them engaged in a mock fight Star Wars sabre style between sections of the audience. If XX’s thesis has been excellent, his final act brought the house down.

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A muddy path in the middle of nowhere (Rousse)

My sister J boasted so much about the new path from the main road to her house, that I felt compelled to test the route myself. I was well prepared in wellies, waterproof trousers, and an anorak for the mud that came all the way up to my waist. I just hoped that my mobile phone was safe inside the nylon pouch strapped across the middle of my body as I half-waded and half-swam between the two lines of hedgerow.

My sister had not been entirely honest in her description of the path. It did not lead directly to her house. At the point that it ended, I turned right along a small suburban road into a well kept English village. I didn’t recognise this place, but some friendly passers-by pointed me in the direction of my sister’s house – miles and miles away.

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How to build a good teacher-student relationship (Rousse)

I wanted to endear myself to the next cohort of students at the start of the new academic year.

So, above the wording ‘We don’t want to be here’ chiselled into a long table in the lecture theatre, I picked up a cheap pen and wrote ‘Normally I don’t use biro, but here I do’.

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A rubbish reunion (Rousse)

I’d devoted months to seeking out and inviting old undergraduate friends to the reunion that was due to start at 6:30pm prompt. Now, with just under an hour before the start time, absolutely nothing was ready in the venue. The room was in disarray and we hadn’t prepared any food. I wondered if there was time to drive to Tesco and buy some mini pork pies?

Nobody else seemed to be bothered about the urgency of the task, not even JS who was supposed to be the joint organiser of the reunion. That afternoon she had sat about with everyone else who had come early including AH (without CS), R and O C-I (who nearly hugged the life out of me), and MW (an old Edinburgh friend of ours from the 1990s, who only knew the others by reputation).

We were all surprised when CA turned up on the date of her daughter’s graduation. She told us that she had decided not to attend the ceremony because she thought a degree from the University of Gross (a new institution resulting from the merger of two failing universities in the south east of England) was worthless.

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A record-breaking tandem ride and ‘polite squatting’ (Rousse)

TPR was triumphant. Not only had we managed the huge hill out of the city on our tandem, but our top speed broke 70mph. All the effort had been his. My own feet barely touched the pedals.

We came to a halt at the summit, narrowly avoiding a collision with my former PhD student FVR, who crossed our path east to west. Then we drifted down into the village.

We had some time to wait before our appointment, so we looked for somewhere to shelter. We found a nice bungalow and let ourselves in through the unlocked doors. Before long we were settled in, helping ourselves to tea and coffee.

I glanced out of the window and saw a couple of women walking down the street. The older of the two was the image of my mother in her 60s, and the other – presumably her daughter – looked just like a younger version of me. I invited them into the house and asked TPR to photograph us together. They both spoke with Lancashire accents, and I genuinely thought that we might be related.

Just as I was copying down the email address of the younger woman and TPR was tidying up the house ahead of our departure, two women barged through the front garden gate. The first was the owner of the bungalow; the second the resident of the last house that we had ‘borrowed’ in a similar way. They were on the warpath, vowing that his time we wouldn’t get away with our ‘polite squattng’.

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Sherlock, steam train, snogging a stranger (Belle)

I was travelling to the south coast with my new husband, Sherlock Holmes, in an open top sports car. I couldn’t stop looking at him and admiring the way the flaps on his hat were capturing the wind as we sped down the A road.

Later, despite knowing my job was 100% remote, I convinced myself I needed to commute the our non-existent office in central London. But my local station was a scene of chaos, and a replacement steam train with old-fashioned slam doors had been brought in. I squeezed into a compartment and locked eyes with a stranger. By the time I had taken a seat beside him, we had already decided we couldn’t keep our hands off each other and embarked on an intense make-out session.

I decided to ditch work and follow him to his office overlooking the Thames. When he tried to introduce me to his colleagues, we realised we did not know each other’s name.

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The best father in Newton Abbot (Rousse)

GG had been very busy since his divorce from J.

Not long after he and his wife had split up, he’d become a father for the fourth time. I guessed that the mother of this child had something to do with the end of his marriage.

Now, he told me, he was in a more permanent relationship, and he and his new partner were excited to be expecting their first baby. Out of his girlfriend’s earshot, he also confessed that three other infants living in his home town of Newton Abbot were his. I calculated that he had fathered eight children in total.

I guessed that the reason I was the one struggling to bake smoked haddock soufflés (overflowing) and an apple crumble (burnt) in the tiny oven in his galley kitchen was that he was too busy procreating.

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A secret child and fake deaths in Welsh seaside resort (Rousse)

I landed in Wales for a holiday with my in-laws. Amongst the others first to arrive at the vast hotel were TPR, his sister JLR, and his mother and step-father. I detected a strange atmosphere, particularly around my mother-in-law and sister-in-law. Something was up!

My suspicions were raised further when I witnessed JLR trying to sneak into the bathroom with a bundle in her arms. From the doorway I watched her place a toddler in the bath. This couldn’t possibly be JLR’s child, even though the little girl bore a striking resemblance to her. When I confronted JLR, she was forced to admit that this was her younger sister’s secret baby, born just before she fell pregnant with her second son. The only other family member who knew about the toddler was my mother-in-law. I promised to keep this information to myself.

The following day we had the option of travelling into town to see the traditional tourist attractions such as the prom, the botanic gardens, and the fairground rides. I hoped that TPR would accompany me, but he opted to stay at the hotel and program instead. JLR, however, set off with everyone else and I was looking forward to chatting with her as we explored the resort. As soon as we stepped off the bus, I realised that she had other ideas. She popped in her earbuds and strode off, leaving me to my own devices. I was furious. Why had this family invited me to join them on holiday when they did not want to spend any time with me?

Back at the hotel once more, I caught sight of TPR heading along a corridor. ‘The F family is here!’ he shouted. I followed him up a staircase.

Sure enough, in a room on the fourth floor, L, T and their daughter K were there, lying pale and still in bed. I thought that they were all dead until T whipped off a soft plastic death mask, delighted to have fooled us with his prank.

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