Everyday clone encounter (Rousse)

It was a pity that nobody noticed my new super-power: to clone myself.

I sat on the grass in the park with TPR, my sister J, her friend Sean, and my double.  My sister didn’t utter a word of surprise when I introduced her to the other ‘me’.

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Truck hire Edinburgh (Rousse)

I was impressed with TPR’s truck driving. He sailed with ease along the wide lanes of the M8 into Edinburgh. Similarly, he skillfully navigated the narrow streets of the city, managing to squeeze the articulated lorry down the narrowest of Old Town closes. At one point he even mounted the pavement, taking advantage of the lorry’s huge clearance space to ride over parked cars without damaging them.

When we arrived back at the car hire depot, TPR drove the lorry to the top of the medieval spiral staircase and set the vehicle into ‘collapse’ mode. While he went off to settle our bill, I watched as the lorry parts sorted themselves into neat order and spilled down the steep red stone staircase like a set of obedient dominoes. Afterwards I abseiled down to ground level.

Here I waited in the secure room until it was time for my release. The small cellar-like room was well equipped with magazines and a sleeping bench, should I have needed them. There were even some children’s toys for any younger lorry passengers.

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Unwelcome guests and a Christmas party assault (Rousse)

Two of the most popular guests were missing from our super-early Christmas party. Instead of joining us in person for sausages and Champagne, BP and her new husband SF communicated to us (and the world) from their bedroom as they awaited the arrival of their new baby.

While we were missing regular guests, we attracted some new (and not so welcome) ones to this year’s event. For example, TPR’s former colleague LC and his wife EC appeared for the first time, having turned down all invitations in the past. Meanwhile I smiled weakly when my old work pal RK turned up uninvited and asked if it was OK if he and his mates could join in the fun. I was hardly in a position to refuse.

Half way through the festivities I realised that another reason why this party was less festive than usual was that we had not hung up the Christmas decorations. I headed upstairs to hunt for fairy lights in the room that we used for storage.

There I found a bag of old exam scripts and a disgruntled student. I told him that I wasn’t going to argue about marks two years after the event and sent him packing.

My next encounter with was even more unpleasant. Somehow I managed to wriggle away from my assailant, then escape the room screaming.

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Cats torture (Rousse)

This was torture. I was forced to sit through the appalling musical Cats not once, but twice.

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Actor Bill Paterson is Mr Diamond selling tea at the Gorilla Arboretum (Rousse)

RR almost smashed into two cars in the car park of the Gorilla Arboretum. He simply did not see the brown Ford Escort Mk 4 as he reversed into what he thought was a free parking space. On his second attempt to park, he was within millimetres of scraping a long line of paintwork off a metallic blue saloon car.

I was so relieved to be able to open the car door. Similarly RR, JS and TPR were grateful for the end of my involuntary back seat driver screaming at every turn of the steering wheel.

For an autumn day, it was rather warm, and I was completely overdressed. So at the entrance to the park I stripped down as far as I could – to my long-sleeved white thermal vest, white jeans, and cowboy boots. I carried the rest of my clothes over my back in a black bin liner. Had I not dressed in such a hurry that morning, I would have taken more care to select weather-appropriate clothing for a walk in a gorilla arboretum.

We started our visit in the arboretum shop. It was stocked with the most beautiful household goods. I was particularly taken by some blue place mats. Amongst the displays a man was seated next to a pile of tea chests. He announced to customers that he was ‘Mr Diamond’ and would be delighted to offer each passer-by a sample of his wares.

‘That’s not Mr Diamond’, I said to JS in a very loud stage whisper. ‘That’s Bill Paterson, the famous Scottish actor’.

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House clearance ‘burglary’ (Rousse)

I stood outside our building and watched several members of an Indian family empty the ground floor flat. When yet another a young man came out of the front door – this one carrying a neat pile of brown bed linen – it dawned on me that this could be a very sophisticated burglary, executed in plain sight.

I called for TPR. He ran up the steps from the basement flat, made a charge for the first ‘burglar’ that he saw, and wrestled him to the ground. Both men scuffled on the pavement for a few minutes, TPR shouting accusations, and the other pleading his innocence.

It was later confirmed that N and S really had commissioned this Indian family to complete a house clearance on their behalf.

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Marriage and goat’s milk mayhem (Rousse)

I was shocked when I learnt that JC had moved back in with her parents after her marriage to GC came to a sudden end. This was nothing, however, to my dismay and desperation when TPR calmly announced that his move south ‘for work’ was not temporary, and that he wanted a divorce.

While I had been looking forward to a long and happy retirement with the love of my life, TPR had been reading a (supposedly) scientific text book about women and marriage. From this he had come to the conclusion he’d been ‘sold a dud’. He wanted to free himself of me to enjoy everything that had been missing from his life over the past four decades.

I took refuge in an academic library that was offering shelter to students during the coronavirus crisis. I found a free desk in a far corner of the reading room, hoping for some peace and quiet. Instead I found – under a bed sheet – two very young presenters of the Today programme giving a demonstration of an outside broadcast to students on campus. I caused a minor disruption when I tipped a carton of goat’s milk all over the floor next to the recording equipment.

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German child expert rescues newborn from drunken babysitter (Rousse)

Not long after the S family moved house to the other side of town, J returned to babysit for the new neighbours. She looked after their newborn baby every afternoon so that they could attend cricket matches.

Given that our building overlooked the sports ground and offered fantastic views of the cricketing action from all floors, it seemed rather strange that our neighbours would abandon their child to a near-stranger in this way.

When we saw J wandering the corridors wine glass in hand, we began to worry for the safety of our neighbour’s child. Eventually J admitted that she could not cope with the stress of this baby-sitting job.

The time had come when an expert in childcare was required. Our neighbours asked around for someone who knew exactly what to do with babies, preferably in both English and German.

‘Leave it to me’, I said, ‘I’ll call the WB ambulance’.

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Locating lost shoes (Rousse)

All I needed was a pair of shoes. I could find singles scattered all over the place, but no individual shoe matched another.

Eventually my style-obsessed neighbour confessed that he had raided my wardrobe for footwear. Odd shoes of mine were now placed carefully around his garden. Here they served as ‘unique’ plant holders.

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Brian the Irish architect (Rousse)

I knew that TPR had tired of me completely, so I was keen to line up a replacement for my husband as soon as possible. My work colleague Brian the Irish architect seemed a good candidate. Like TPR he was tall and lean (albeit not so muscular).

Brian was delighted and surprised to learn that I was interested in him. He jumped at the opportunity of a road test. I invited him to follow me around bookcases as I added to my collection of second hand reading material.

I rewarded Brian’s patience with a snog in the park.

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