Edinburgh New Town burglars strike (Rousse)

It was a joyful experience of being carried high above everyone else through the Edinburgh New Town on the shoulders of my 8 feet tall university pal MH.

Ten minutes later my world fell apart. When we reached my street I saw that the Georgian railings had been smashed in, the hanging baskets cut from their brackets, and half the contents of my flat were scattered outside.

‘Someone dial 999!’ I shrieked ‘My flat’s being burgled!’

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Sacked Canadian soap actress is surprise guest at own retirement party (Rousse)

The out of work actress was a mutual friend of my cousins N and DT. Until recently she played a regular role in a Canadian television soap, but in the past couple of months her character had been written out of the script.

‘Up a ramp, darling. That’s where they have put me for the time being’, she told me when I asked whether her character had been killed off. She seemed to think that she would make a return to the small screen in the near future.

However, when the show producers suddenly rounded up a bunch of random people – myself included – to attend the actress’ retirement party, it was clear to me that the television audience had seen the last of her.

I signed my name in the party guest book, and gave my address as Stockton-on-Tees.

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Jane Seymour’s in-law (Belle)

Within seconds of being introduced to Jane Seymour’s son by the actress herself, we both knew we were each other’s better half. We lay down on the pavement outside the Hilton Hotel, staring into each other’s eyes and laughing at jokes.

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Tuning into Toto’s Africa (Rousse)

A full orchestra was tuning up from seats (rather than the stage) in the conference hall. I recognised the refrain: Toto’s Africa. The conductor was so enthusiastic that she was playing a clarinet herself, as well as leading the musicians.

I wanted to hear more, but a conference official shooed me away from my spot just outside the door. She explained that this was just a rehearsal, and that I would be able to listen to the whole performance later when the conference was next in session.

I was too lazy to go for a swim during the break, so instead headed back to the hotel room that I shared with two much younger delegates.

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A greedy dumped wife (Rousse)

When we returned from our holiday, TPR told me he was serious this time: he no longer wanted me, not even if I turned a blind eye to his affairs.

Fortunately for me, CSX was waiting in the wings, ready to drop FFX in my favour. I was not really attracted to CSX, but I knew that he adored me, and he was due to inherit from his very wealthy family. I also couldn’t bear the thought of being on my own. So when TPR refused for the final time to take me back, I knew what I had to do.

As I was drawn into CSX’s family, however, I regretted taking him on. I discovered that his fish-eyed, gay, Jewish father was holding secret meetings with CSX’s siblings, all of whom were determined to cut him out of the family fortune.  Without the prospect of his inheritance, I was hardly interested in CSX at all.

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Cancer patient makes an early, and ill-advised, return to work (Rousse)

LM was shocked to see me in the corridor on campus.

‘Whatever are you doing here?’ she shouted. ‘You’ve got cancer. Go back home to your sickbay!’

My own opinion was that I was fit to work. Then I tried to climb into the low-shelved paternoster lift, witnessed by AV, CFS and one other (the latter two wearing green and blue jumpers that I had hand-knitted). It was proved that I should still be on sick leave when I obviously did not have the strength to mount the lift.

However, before I sloped off home, I checked the office that I shared with QDX. My belongings were all intact, but his were covered with yellow stickers.

‘What’s going on?’ I asked.

‘It looks like I am surplus to requirements, I have lost my job, and all my stuff is going to be thrown out,’ he replied.

After my office-mate had left, I noticed that he had forgotten to take his mobile phone and some sweets that he had purchased for his children. I stole two chocolates, then handed everything else into campus reception for my (now) ex-colleague to collect at a later date.

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Lunch with Barry Cryer (Rousse)

I took pity on Barry Cryer, dining alone at a table for two. He recognised me when I joined him, and seemed to welcome my company.

We discussed my ‘secret talent’, and the pleasure of revealing to others that I was a writer for BBC Radio 4’s I’m sorry I haven’t a clue.

At the end of the meal I asked Barry to pass on my best wishes to our mutual friend Willie Rushton, forgetting that the long-dead comedian had left this world in 1996.

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