Theresa May’s penchant for red (Rousse)

I helped Theresa May select some new shoes. Her preference was for red wedged sandals.

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Black market fruit and vegetables and a broken iPhone (Rousse)

We stockpiled the fruit and vegetables just inside the main entrance to the university, not far from the reception desk where LM was on duty. Most of the students missed our little stall as they passed by on the way to their lectures. Those who did spot the produce seemed unaware that we were offering it free of charge.

To remedy this, I stood next to the piles of fruit and vegetables and pointed them out to the students. Many simply ignored me, but two that I taught took interest.

I later found OB and NM cramming as much produce as possible into their rucksacks at a time that they should have been in a statistics lecture. I feared that it was not their intention to adopt healthy eating habits, but that they planned to sell all this produce on the black market.

Meanwhile I had another problem: my iPhone was broken and could no longer take photographs. I showed it to LM, who diagnosed a broken casing. The only person we knew who could sort this out was JM, but he was nowhere to be found.

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Cat capture (Rousse)

I was speaking to my parents on the phone from the comfort of my own bed at 06:00am when three cats jumped into the flat through the bedroom window.

I left TPR to chase the intruders out again.

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Mid-summer’s Day in Cornwall – with curry (Rousse)

It was super-early on Mid-summer’s Day in Cornwall and I was lucky enough to observe the locals and a selection of animals march up the hill in the annual sunrise procession. I could not fathom how they managed to persuade everyone to walk in a neat line, at the same pace, each an equal distance apart from the person/creature ahead.

I would have like to have joined the celebrations at the top of the hill, but there was some problem with the minibus transport in the village below.

Added to this, KA caused all sorts of confusion over a curry. In the end we decided to eat out and invite S to join us.

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Darts and death with Prince Charles (Rousse)

When Charles, Prince of Wales challenged TPR to a game of darts, I wandered out into the damp garden.

The peace was interrupted when a woman ran across the terrace screaming ‘He’s dead, he’s dead, David is dead!’

Then a rook overhead diverted its course to swoop down to the lawn and attack a man who had been quietly standing on the grass.

From this I concluded (a) that Prince David had been murdered, and (b) that his assailant was known.

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The Fringe, Finchley, and frightening fiction (Rousse)

One of the women at the café table turned to me and asked how I was enjoying my annual trip up to Edinburgh and the fringe festival. I politely explained that I was a resident of this fine city, so I was able take full advantage of the annual arty shenanigans while based at home. Then I asked where she was from.

‘Rural central London’ she replied.

I wondered if she meant Finchley? Weren’t there trees there? I turned to my mother to remind her of the time that the whole family drove down to London and parked the car in Mrs Thatcher’s old constituency before setting off to explore the city.

Then I noticed Belle and her new boyfriend at the other end of the table! They had very little time left in Edinburgh and were about to head back to London. I abandoned all my plans for the day and followed them to the station. Five hours later I was a guest in their little terraced house in central London.

Belle took me up to her secret room in the attic to read extracts from her latest horror novel to me. It was all terribly gruesome, but she was bound to make a fortune when she sold the rights for a slasher movie.

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Treatment of yellow fungus disease (Rousse)

I arrived a couple of minutes late to be admitted to the auditorium where TPR and some of our friends were in the audience of an Edinburgh Fringe theatre production. Luckily, there was a sudden unexpected power cut before the actors took to the stage, so I snuck in and found our party in the dark of the third row.

In the seat that should have been mine was a much younger woman, snuggling up to TPR. Our friends were obviously familiar with this arrangement. When the lights came back on and she saw me, TPR’s young lady took flight.

Although I was angry to discover further evidence of my husband’s extra-marital dalliances, I was relieved that my own affair with a young London ex-polytechnic lecturer called Tweed could somehow be legitimised as a form of romantic tit-for-tat.

More worrying, however, was the discovery that TPR had contracted yellow fungus disease from his amorous adventures. This was in urgent need of treatment – not least because this fatal contagious skin disease is normally found in reptiles (especially bearded dragons), and not in humans.

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