Flying ducks, a yellow Aga, and Nottingham University’s Nobel prize winners (Rousse)

I was appalled at how my sister S had persuaded my parents to change the decor of their house. Flying ducks climbed the drawing room wall to the left of the fireplace, the dining room was hung with shop sale signs and posters bearing unknown slogans in Chinese script, and (worst of all) the Aga had been painted yellow. My parents seemed oblivious to these changes. From this I concluded that more were inevitable.

Meanwhile TPR had taken refuge from the chaos in an office at Nottingham University. He had turned the space into a bedroom for the pair of us. The office could be found just beyond the University’s magnificent new library.

Bounding up the library steps, I set off to find TPR. Along the way I marvelled at the interactive display boards that listed the University’s impressive collection of Nobel prize winners.

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Mountain rescue (Rousse)

P sat up in the single bed next to mine and complained of a hangover. He was moody enough at the best of times so I wasn’t prepared to hang around to see how he would behave with a sore head. I wondered whether his wife would look after him, but she just flitted in and out of the room in her new shiny black jacket and left him to it. My escape was to go for a run.

My route took me along the cycle paths and up into the hills, where I hoped to meet EH. I carried the house phone just in case anyone needed to contact me. All was gong well until I got lost. One minute I was scampering across newly sown lawns on a housing estate. The next I was sliding down a polished rock outcrop that hung over a freezing, rough sea. When the phone fell out of my hands and crashed into the waves below, I realised I was in severe danger of suffering the same fate.

Then I lost my sight. This was it. I really thought that I was going to die.

Luckily a walker found me stumbling across the moorland and carried me off to a mountain hostel. When I regained my sight, and the first person that I saw was JH, I knew that I had been saved.

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Second cousins and a suspect chicken (Rousse)

When I arrived at T and S’s house, LO’N and CT were already there. L looked fabulous even though she had only just given birth to baby S. When I asked how she knew CT they both laughed. Surely I could tell that they shared the same great-grandparents? I calculated that they must be second cousins.

T offered us some food as we went through to the sitting room. He told me that I was not to worry. It was true that he still had the remains of the chicken dinner from 6th December in a tin, but he had no intention of serving this up again today.

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Economical in-flight entertainment (Rousse)

We hadn’t quite finished packing for our trip for Australia. We were so excited at the prospect of heading to the warmth of a late Antipodean summer, leaving the bitter cold of a British January behind.

I reminded TPR to pop a decent shirt and chinos into the suitcase just in case Uncle J wanted to invite us out to a restaurant.

Then I cut out the photograph of the dark-haired man from the front cover of a 1970s magazine. We were planning to carry the minimum of hand luggage so this was all I was taking as reading material. I was quite happy stare at that picture for the full 24 hours of travel time.

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Bathroom upgrade (Rousse)

TPR had been very busy in my absence. He’d plumbed in the two new bathroom suites, both of which were chunky white. He’d also started decorating both bathrooms in pale green colours. Our own bathroom – no longer en suite – was covered in a mix of antique wallpapers.

I approved of TPR’s work, especially his decision to switch to a smaller bath tub in the guest bathroom to give us extra space for a deep jacuzzi in ours. My only complaint was that if you turned on the light switch above one mirror, the light over the other one was illuminated.

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Wife swap for ferret (Rousse)

Hexham was packed with early morning commuters walking to work. It was particularly difficult to get through the narrow gap next to the abbey with so many people fighting to reach their offices on time for a 09:00am start.

Once through the rush hour, however, TPR and I enjoyed the walk across the open fields that ran down to the river. I spotted a small wooden house built into a bank that even TPR might be tempted to buy. Further into our walk we came across a performing pony and its owner, then a series of colourful lorries. The circus was in town!

Soon the performers were setting up for their shows. Amongst them were a rock group, the members of which were all made up in styles similar to Heath Ledger when he played the Joker. There was also a mime artist dressed up as a pale blue shop dummy. Indeed his act was so convincing that members of the public believed that he was actually an automaton rather than a real person encased in plastic.

I chose to spend some time alone watching the performers. I carried my iPhone with me so that I could take some photographs. However, I was too shy to approach anyone for a picture.

I was away from TPR for such a long time that I needed to use the iPhone turbo function to speed my return to him by train. This made a huge difference to the time it took to travel to the station at Bill, just outside Chester, where TPR had (by now) booked into a hotel.

When I reached him TPR was sitting down for breakfast, shoeless and in shorts. He was actually quite surprised to see me – as was I, given that his new companion, and replacement for me, was a slippery black and tan ferret keen to slip its lead.

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A failed meeting (Rousse)

The committee was due to meet in my study. I arranged the furniture so that everyone would fit in: two seminar table arrangements, with the smaller one inside the other.

As people arrived I took drinks orders (three instant coffees), and instructed Mr Hendon to write up an agenda on the flipchart that I had provided. (I was a little surprised that the agenda was not already fixed, but as a non-member of this group I was unfamiliar with its practices.)

When I came back into the room with the coffees everyone had disappeared. The committee members had all got the wrong date for the meeting and so had left without a word to me.

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A spiked drink victim (Rousse)

TPR was very unhappy with our new life in London. I tried to sell it to him by showing him the sights at weekends, but he was not to be converted.

Walking through Kensington one day, TPR quickened his pace. I could no longer keep up with him, and the physical distance that grew between us mirrored the state of our relationship. When I was further delayed by the need to find a bin in which to deposit an empty Coke bottle, we lost sight of one another. I sat on the steps of the Albert Hall and wept.

A small woman approached me and forced a clear plastic cup of luminous blue liquid into my hand. ‘Drink this’, she said. ‘It will make you feel better’.

There was no way that I would take a spiked drink from a stranger. However, when the woman told me that consumption of the cup’s contents would restore my fitness and win me a new gym membership, I was persuaded to change my mind.

The first drink went down well. Feeling much happier, I stood up and set off to find TPR again.

Then I drank a second cup of liquid. This was a terrible mistake. I was transported to a long, narrow, enclosed corridor. I ran along it as fast as I could, pushing open fire-doors along the way. I called out TPR’s name in a desperate plea for rescue, but to no avail. I was stuck here, forever, on my own.

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Time travelling drones (Belle)

Now that drones and time travel were so cheap, TV programming had been revolutionised.  The latest BBC hit was a programme in which a drone had been attached to a Victorian parlour-maid’s apron and the nation was transfixed by first hand experience of non-stop drudgery.

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Best tutor regrets election result (Rousse)

Lucky me! The second year students had voted me ‘best tutor’ so now I was obliged to see them every Tuesday. Someone had even posted the voting papers to my office door (back on the D corridor) just in case anybody doubted the outcome of the ballot.

Coming first in a popularity contest was the last thing I needed, especially since this generated even more work. I still had 400 emails to plough through before I could settle down to any worthwhile tasks.

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