Competing at the cloud computing headgear championships (Rousse)

TPR, JM and I were competing at the London Olympia cloud computing headgear championships. It was pretty obvious to me that JM would win with his baby blue mohair beanie.

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Bold in boots and bra under tight-fit trouser suit (Rousse)

I didn’t want to join the party too early so I took my time over my choice of outfit. My sister J walked into the room just as I was putting on a pale blue tight-fit cotton trouser suit with blue suede high-heeled boots. Both she and I agreed that there was nothing in my cupboard suitable to wear under the suit jacket, so I buttoned it up tight and hoped that nobody would notice my white bra underneath. We headed downstairs, leaving JG and others working their way through my wardrobe in an attempt to source suitable party outfits for themselves.

The party itself turned out to be some kind of work convention in Toronto located underneath a shopping mall near to a mini fake French chateau. I found part of the trade floor curtained off for VIPs like me. The first woman to greet me immediately issued an instruction that I head to Gap and buy myself a white scoop neck T shirt. I couldn’t possibly be seen at a professional event in such a state of undress.

I wanted to blame TPR for all this. Had he not left me I would have known what to wear. I left another desperate voicemail message on his phone pleading with him to return to his wife, even though I knew that this was completely out of the question. I had given my best years to him, yet now I was destined to see out the rest of my days as a sad, single, old woman.

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Phil Cunningham plays Edinburgh – to an audience of three (Rousse)

I took my seat in the fourth row of the concert hall and waited alone for Phil Cunningham to take the stage. The lyrics of his first song were displayed on a flip chart a few metres in front of me. I took a few minutes to write them down. As he took a seat next to me, PC mocked me for indulging in the old-fashioned practice of taking notes.

LM then joined us to bring the audience number up to three. My first priority was to ask her all about her move to her Edinburgh New Town flat. However, I was distracted by her hairstyle. Why was she going bald?

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Barbara Windsor’s body hair (Rousse)

Barbara Windsor led the line-up of a dozen semi-naked, middle-aged, dancing ladies well-known for their aversion to body hair.

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A failed burglary (Rousse)

I broke into the house that adjoined that of AT and JT, changed into a flouncy silk trouser suit and discarded my dripping wet tracksuit on the floor.

The woman who caught me was convinced that I was a common burglar, even when I reeled off the names of some of the people that I was pretty sure that she should know. She wanted me out of the house that minute.

I promised to leave, stole a bottle of Cava, and attempted a pathetic exit from a first floor kitchen window into a pit 100 feet below.

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The vengeful chicken (Belle)

It was coming to the end of wild chicken season at the allotment and we were all being encouraged to hunt them.  Although uncomfortable with this ‘sport’, I let myself be convinced that I should dispatch the Head Hen using a poison pellet.

A few days later I discovered the chicken had survived my assasination attempt and had given an interview to Tim Roth in which she named and shamed me and swore vengeance.  I was horrified.  Tim Roth would ensure my name was mud all over social media.

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Christmas present opening preparations (Rousse)

PB was teaching me how to use the Internet effectively when a message box popped up on the screen to announce that my sister was online.

‘But it’s only 08:30am!’ I protested. ‘Why is she awake so early?’

When I went through to the bedroom to ask her face-to-face she explained that she was practising for Christmas Day. She needed to be sure that she would be up and dressed in time to open her presents.

I almost asked her about the massive tattoo that stretched across her torso, but thought better of it.

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Soup honour (Rousse)

I was so famous that they named a bowl of soup after me.

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A disgraceful dip in the pool (Rousse)

It was a full hour before I was due to chair the presentation at Edinburgh University. I persuaded a couple of others that we had time to call in at the dancing conference on the way.

We entered a long hall where a Strip the willow as in full swing. Then I passed through a room where a woman was makin dancing shoes from soft, pale, leather. Finally I saw the swimming pool – and fell into it.

I had some difficulty getting out of the water with my flimsy linen trousers and top now transparent and my underwear on show. I was also worried that the beautiful shoes (bought brown, now dyed blue) from Nantes were ruined forever. Then there was the shame of having contaminated the pool.

I was now the most unpopular woman in Edinburgh – with precisely 40 minutes to get dry before my next gig along the road.

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Simon Le Bon and Duran Duran play Birmingham University reunion

I sat next to Simon Le Bon – and opposite Nick Rhodes and John Taylor – in a club with other former classmates following Duran Duran’s performance at our University reunion. Simon feigned attention in my tale about a friend of a friend who used to boast that the pop star student used sit on MH’s girlfriend’s radiator and complain about his spots. However, I could tell that he was much more interested in the other Birminghmam University graduate to his left: Women’s Hour presenter Jane Garvey. Even so, I was impressed that Simon was polite enough to listen to this tired campus legend, and that he asked me to explain my job title.

I wondered how we had managed to secure a world-famous pop band to play at our reunion. Could this be something to do with Jimmy Page and his relationship with another friend from our hall of residence? Whatever the reason, it had been a fun evening, but now it was time for me to head back to my hotel. Simon paid the bill for the table and led the ‘in’ crowd off to the next club. I was happy to find my very elderly friend and make arrangements for us to return to our accommodation.

It took a while to get my friend out of the club because she wanted to donate to charity some very expensive clothes that she had worn just once that evening. I was particularly taken by a light cardigan in pale yellow silk. Couldn’t she just give it to me? Apparently this was not the done thing: if it was valuable it should be given away to raise money for the poor and needy.

On our way back to the hotel we competed in a 10k race. I walked most of the course around the campus of the University of Birmingham. I did part of it with my old tutor EXX, who pushed his grandchild along the route in a buggy.

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