Shoplifters in Sainsburys (Rousse)

On each morning for four days, I visited the meat counter at Sainsburys. A family of four did the same. Unlike me, however, they never placed a single joint in their trolley. I wondered if they might be shoplifters, but kept this thought to myself.

On the fifth day, when TPR accompanied me, we all followed the same routine. I chose some meat for purchase as the family lingered next to me, watching intently. The single difference this day was that we all left the supermarket at the same time.

Just outside the entrance I felt a sudden pain in my kidneys. The teenage daughter had kneed me from behind. TPR leapt to fight back.

‘Leave this with me’ I said, ‘There is a much better way to deal with this.’

I marched back into the shop to voice my shoplifter suspicions to the store manager.

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Lockerbie one-upwomanship (Rousse)

I was working as an au pair for a vile vain woman who treated me as her inferior in status and intelligence. She also employed three young foreign woman in her kitchen at night.

When I learnt that the others were students at Sunderland University, I wondered if I should reveal my true identity. When I did so, one of the students begged to know more about my domain of expertise.

I didn’t get the chance to respond. This was because our employer immediately butted in to boast that she was heavily involved in the aftermath of the bombing of Pan Am Flight 103 over Lockerbie on 21st December 1988.

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Identification of an eighteenth century island greenhouse (Rousse)

‘It looks eighteenth century to me. Do you know the architect?’ asked the super-snobby woman seated with her grandmother on my mother-in-law’s sofa.

Whatever gave her the impression that I would know anything about an ancient greenhouse on an island in the middle of lake?

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Vintage car escapes bombing (Rousse)

With the others, I observed the arrival of the Rolls Royce from my vintage Riley. It glided around the corner and parked outside the long cottage. A fleet of shiny black SUVs followed, carrying men in matching suits carrying binoculars.

What’s going on? we asked one another.

Then we looked up and saw a massive metal object the size of an up-ended container ship drop from a huge height above us.

I screamed ‘Bomb!’ while everyone else reached to wind up the car windows.

As the ‘bomb’ struck the ground, one of the men forced my car into gear, then pressed hard on the accelerator. We escaped the explosion in a cloud of dust and debris.

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The Shoreditch Dachshund Challenge (Belle)

I had been busy flirting with the owner of the new antique shop, hoping he would give me the address of a secret auction house. However, the longer he refused to share this information, the more obsessed with him I became.

Through stealthy detective work, I discovered he had a fondness for extreme sports and was a participant in a new weekend event in trendy Shoreditch. I arrived at the starting point in time to see my man, clad in Lycra and a crash helmet, lying prone on a trolley being pushed through a small hole in a front door. I asked another spectator what was going on. This was the first ever Shoreditch Dachshund Challenge, where participants attempted to squeeze through as many tiny Dachshund doggie doors as possible in an hour.

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The pensioners’ orgy (Belle)

As my friend parked our bright blue car on the high street, I spotted my friend T walking through the front door of a house. This came as a surprise to me as I hadn’t seen him since he died in the late 1980s. I decided to knock on the same door to say hello.

The door was opened by an impossibly elderly woman. Before I could explain who I was, I looked over her shoulder and saw that a full-scale orgy was taking place. There was a tangle of bodies and walking sticks and wheelchairs. There was no sign of T.

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Mother in a care home (Rousse)

We had some explaining to do when my father returned from Canada.

Why, he demanded, had the three of us – my two sisters and I – placed our mother in a care home?

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Rude relations (Rousse)

My sister J and her husband M decided to move to Edinburgh. They took a quick look at my flat, pulled out a pad of paper, and drew up some plans. Their big idea was to buy my flat and improve it. Meanwhile, I could go and live elsewhere. I doubted that they could afford to do this. In any case, they would never get planning permission – especially when they indicated that they would be sending their proposals to Newcastle (as opposed to Edinburgh) City Council. Even so, I found it all deeply distressing.

Events the next day at R and SL’s house upset me further. My nephew P’s cold behaviour and snarky response to my question about his viewing of The traitors series 3 were completely out of character. I ran into the kitchen and called him a git (completely out of character for me too). Then, on the way home through the New Town, I lost TPR. The only happy moment of the whole evening came when we watched the starling murmurations over the park from R and S’s kitchen window.

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Oxford University cheat (Rousse)

HVJ’s father passed on the telephone message. ‘Your daughter N is struggling with a final year essay. Please could you help?’

I couldn’t believe that it had come to this: Oxford undergraduates using their mothers as ghost writers.

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Mistaken for a grandfather (Rousse)

The children ran into the room and spotted TPR in the corner.

‘That old man must be your grandpa’ said one to the other.

TPR was not impressed.

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