I woke up to Christmas Day on the Isle of Lewis. I nudged TPR awake. He’d been sleeping next to me in the driver’s seat of our motor boat: “There’s a beautiful sunrise and I’d like to photograph it from the beach”. The boat was facing west on the single track road so the fastest route to the sea was in reverse gear. We sped backwards along the road watching out for traffic from both directions. Sadly we didn’t reach the beach. It was so wrong, but instead we stopped off at a fully functioning road-side shopping mall and cafe, where TPR ordered a coffee. The commercialisation of the Outer Hebrides and ignorance of the Sabbath had surely gone too far.

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I wanted to enjoy the party just like colleagues DB and LD, who were happily eating at a table for two. However, TPR was nowhere to be seen. I couldn’t go outside to find him because someone had stolen my walking boots. I grabbed another colleague NU as he was passing, handed him the shed keys and asked him to go outside to find some suitable footwear for me. He returned with a pair of brand new, fur-lined, size 3 ankle boots. Although a tight fit, these would do.

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I hugged my colleague TF and apologised for not making it to his open house. He said that he didn’t mind. They’d been overrun with visitors and I wasn’t missed. When I started to follow TF down to the beach by the right hand steps he called out in alarm. Only very tall people could cope with the steep drops. If I took that route I would fall and drop everything that I was carrying.

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I was back on campus in Edinburgh after a long break. In my absence AD and someone else had moved into our office. Four sharing such a tiny space would be quite a squeeze. I realised that I could really do with more room as soon as I started to work on the research group’s finances. I kept accidentally elbowing AD as I counted out the coppers from the dishes of water.

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(Bonus guest contribution from Rousse’s daddy: he was going to the North Yorkshire Show with a self-opinionated man in cap last night.)