Avocado bathroom suite in the museum of sanitation (Rousse)

Dozens of bathtubs hung on the walls and from the ceiling of the saleroom. The most precious and elaborate had been recovered from ancient archaeological sites. Much of their value lay in their beautiful mosaic decorations.

To my surprise and delight, several modern coloured bathtubs formed part of the display. Some were even corner baths. I was particularly interested in the orange and green samples, delighted that these were ready for sale. Now I would be vindicated for holding on to the avocado bathroom suite in my own flat for 30 years.

However, I was to be disappointed. This was not a saleroom, but a museum of sanitation. The likelihood of anyone wishing to install an avocado bathroom suite in 2020 was the same as that for the accidental discovery of an ancient mosaic bathtub under the lawn of a suburban back garden.

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A fat boyfriend and flowers (Rousse)

The small reunion organised our university friend JK gave my sister J the opportunity to relive one of her wittiest comments. With my ex-boyfriend ST seated at the table quite close to TPR, she reminded everyone that her first comment on my new beau in 1983 was ‘Isn’t that ST, just a bit fatter?’

Meanwhile my attempts to encourage JK and JM to converse on the topic of the Netherlands fell flat. This was because JK was embarrassed that JM had brought me a bouquet of flowers, whereas he had not.

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An unplanned wedding and retro hooligans (Belle)

When I checked the agenda at the Women in Industry event, I was horrified to see that an afternoon session had been set aside for me to marry D, a married man with a thousand children I’d crushed on for years.

It was unclear whether he knew anything about this scheduled wedding. I was already wearing a vintage wedding dress that I had last worn to a university formal in the 1980s, but I was wearing bedroom slippers. My hair was a mess, my face was ugly, and I had no friends with me. To make matters worse, delegates were expressing their anger that a wedding had been scheduled to take place in the middle of their conference programme. I tried texting D, but my phone wasn’t working. This was the most humiliating day of my life.

What saved me was the entire conference was evacuated via bus to Oxford. There we gathered in a town square while police approached two older men, dressed in black and white stripes, larking about in a fountain.

“We identify you as the Blackburn Rovers Bovver Boys, and you are arrested”.

I was then called upon to explain 1970s football hooliganism to my fellow delegates. My reputation was restored.

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New boys in town (Rousse)

The first duty of CM’s three boys when they moved up to Edinburgh from Leeds was to surprise me at 6:00am on my birthday.

The little one was most enthusiastic, especially when I said that I would play board games with him. Monopoly was his first choice. To the eldest I explained that I was also skilled at the more serious games, should he ever like to indulge in Settlers of Catan or Carcassonne.

They were all interested in my birthday presents. These mainly comprised slabs of expensive chocolate. CM himself reckoned that many of my well wishers were sycophants, attempting to curry favour by sending me birthday cards.

Meanwhile TPR wondered whether CM would make a good running partner.

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The fifth Beatle (Rousse)

The black and white press photograph of a beaming TPR sandwiched between Paul McCartney and George Harrison was all the evidence that I needed to account for his absence from home in the whole month of January.

Now I knew that he’d been living it up with his celebrity friends as the fifth Beatle.

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Barry Cryer’s autograph (Rousse)

I overheard Barry Cryer’s minder announce to the theatre staff that his boss was waiting in the car outside. I followed him back out to the street, then asked him if he might be able to ask Cryer to sign a scrap of paper for me. This would make a great birthday present for TPR.

Cryer was delighted to contribute to the birthday celebrations. Rather than use paper, he signed his name on a white balloon (which looked rather like his head). When a gust of wind pulled the balloon out of his hands and sent it flying over a fence, I persuaded Cryer that an autograph on a thin sheet of paper from a receipt book would suffice.

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Butler dinner guest seeks opinion of Michel Barnier (Rousse)

My parents’ house was so vast that it was hard to keep track of all the family members and visitors staying there.

One morning I was appalled to find a tramp asleep under a brand new duvet in one of the bedrooms in my suite. Then downstairs I discovered a gang of academic staff from Robert Gordon University watching a video of the University of Edinburgh graduation ceremony. Most surprising of all, my youngest sister was at home in a bedroom that was almost tidy.

SM was also in residence, wandering the corridors in a formal outfit that confused everyone. Was he the butler or simply formally dressed (super-early) for dinner? When he asked my opinion of the latest interview with Michel Barnier, I lied that I had slept through it. I was too ashamed to admit that I hadn’t followed a word of the discussion.

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Displaying a nipple and swimming with baby dolphins in lockdown (Rousse)

Campus was open again. I was there once more attending lectures, and they were even measuring the water levels in the swimming pool.

On most days I sat next to my primary school ‘friend’ ST, delighted that I was admitted as one of his crowd – at long last. I shared my joy with one of the ‘cool’ girls and AG, planting a wet kiss on his big face before returning to my seat at the back of the classroom.

One day I changed into my bikini, rather carelessly as it turned out. I’d already wandered around campus for several minutes before I noticed my right breast wardrobe malfunction: my nipple had been on full display to all! I was so ashamed that I jumped on a passing train to remove myself immediately from the scene, even though I had no money for my fare, nor any idea of this service’s destination.

I only travelled to the next stop – Haymarket – and fortunately the train guard didn’t reach me in my short time aboard to ask to check my ticket. My other stroke of luck was to see my colleague AC in my carriage. He spotted my clothing embarrassment and offered his jumper to cover the top part of my body. He also agreed to arrange my passage home again (he had cash), sacrificing his planned afternoon of career development in a garden centre.

Haymarket station was in a shocking state, presumably due to neglect during lockdown. Squatters had moved into the station buildings to create a shanty town of houses decorated with broken china objects. AC picked up a couple of pieces of porcelain without considering that they might be precious to someone else. We befriended a small girl and a ginger cat in one of the ‘gardens’.

Before taking the return train to campus once more, AC and I swam with baby dolphins in the sea loch.

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England World Cup win 2020 and TFL infographics (Rousse)

England won the Cricket World Cup, and a Premiership football team triumphed in some European championship or other. This wouldn’t have interested me – if it weren’t for the annoying bunting and smug faces south of the border.

My main focus was my forthcoming appearance on Who wants to be a millionaire. I was sure that I could do better than the contestant before me: a plump Irish woman who failed to identify from four infographics the one that is not found on Transport for London bus shelters. (Answer: route maps of the wider Greater London region.)

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Hebridean ham roast recipe conundrum (Rousse)

The contestants were each invited to roast a lump of ham. I would then judge their efforts so that the winner would be appointed part-time chef at the Hebridean guest house.

I wondered how they would cope with the recipe that they were required to follow. It was devised by the son of the guest house proprietor and featured in his dreadful self-published cookery book.

Even the format of the book ignored publishing conventions. For example, each chapter was assigned its own series of page numbers. This rendered the index completely useless.

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