The Emperor of China, Tom Forrest, an absent wife, and a widower (Rousse)

Ancient tradition in China required the donning of a long black robe (similar to an academic gown) whenever the emperor visited. Every day during my imprisonment I was on standby for this eventuality. Meanwhile I joined in with the activities as best I could despite my inability to speak a word of the language of my ‘hosts’. I soon became very adept at sign language.

On the day that the emperor came calling I rushed upstairs to the newly-painted black and green bedroom to root out my robe. I knew I would be in big trouble if I were not appropriately dressed. Seated on the bed, AF watched me. I then returned back downstairs again to greet the honoured guest. He didn’t actually speak to me. Instead I explained to one of his minders by means of hand gestures that I had travelled far to visit this ancient land.

Later I somehow managed to escape the compound of the house. I wandered along the edge of a lake where I came across some other foreigners who had decided that they actually wanted to visit China.

Further along my route it became obvious that I had breached the border. Here there were many more westerners, and all the signage was in English. I noticed a banner for a talk on fishing by Tom Forrest. This confused me: did they mean the Archers actor Bob Arnold, who played Tom Forrest? If so, wasn’t he dead?

Of course, by now, all I really wanted was to be reunited with my darling TPR. I wandered the streets and bars looking for him. Eventually I saw him come into a restaurant. He’d put on a bit of weight during my absence, but this was definitely him in his chinos and blue shirt.

When he sat down at a table I did the same opposite him. He looked so sad on his own, and I couldn’t understand why he was not delighted to see me. It was only then that I realised that my long time away had rendered me invisible. From now on although I would be able to see TPR, he would have no idea of my presence. We would never spend any time together as a couple again. Effectively I had disappeared from his life and he was now a widower, left to face the rest of his life on his own.

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Ducks and drowning risk in city centre (Rousse)

I’d craved a sea view for years and now I had one – almost.

When we woke at 05:00am to the blast of morning television from the flat upstairs TPR and I had no option but to get up and dressed, and investigate.

While I inspected the internal conduits of sound, such as our airing cupboard beneath their kitchen, TPR checked the garden. There he discovered that we now had a river flowing past our back door, already colonised by a family of mallard ducks. TPR called me out to see our new water feature.

I admired the view, then grew increasingly concerned for the safety of the children in the neighbourhood who might fall into the water and drown.

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Phil Collins’ Ghostbusters dance (Rousse)

Phil Collins danced with joy as I watched Ghostbusters on a decrepit VHS tape.

Afterwards I took the dog into town to find TPR’s abandoned bike.

When I returned home to the White House I annoyed my sister J. She refused my request to photograph the mist over the garden at dawn from her bedroom window.

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Love strikes in the City of London (Belle)

My advanced tea-making skills had attracted the attention of a handsome young suitor but I knew this was not enough to ensure our long-term compatibility.  I was more interested in the older gentleman I had met in the exquisite and newly excavated chapel near Cannon Street Station.  As he drove me around the city in his car, we exchanged teasing banter.  I was in love!

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Cheese throwing with Billy Connolly (Rousse)

Although the purpose of the exercise was unclear, I enjoyed an afternoon of ‘cheese chucking’ with Billy Connolly and BP. The concept was simple. All you had to do was throw lumps of cheese up onto a high shelf. I soon found that the small cellophane-wrapped samples were easy enough to toss, but I cursed the person who had added a huge breeze block sized brick of cheap coloured cheddar to the game. This was impossible to lift, let alone propel through the air.

Afterwards BP challenged E’s decision to make poverty a main theme of her PhD thesis. ‘How could she possibly speak about this with authority at a viva?’ he asked. ‘There simply isn’t time for her to complete all the necessary reading.’

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Arthur Lowe and the Penis Olympics (Belle)

It seemed I had – at last – achieved my lifetime goal.  I was the passenger in a sweet, vintage car and it was the 1970s.  Arthur Lowe was taking me to the shops in Catford, having proposed to me earlier on that day.  He lifted up my hand and licked the inside of my wrist.  I thought, “That wasn’t too awful”.

Later I settled down to watch the Penis Olympics on TV.  Broadcasting live from a remote south American jungle, two competing villages were wearing their distinctive red or blue wooden  ‘gourd’ uniforms and displaying their muscly lower halves.  When the whistle went, each villager sat down with an opponent and the competitors began to discuss whose penis was best.  A winner emerged from each bout by mutual agreement.  The Reds won!

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A bathroom for every bedroom in Edinburgh’s Victoria Street accommodation (Rousse)

I visited AC in his Victoria Street flat. None of us had ever been there before, although TPR had once peered into the sitting room and concluded that this was the extent of the apartment. This was on the basis that it housed AC’s bed. I was therefore surprised to discover that AC’s accommodation ran to three bedrooms and three bathrooms.

The flat was an odd shape, and the windows didn’t offer much of a view other than of the white-painted walls of the next building in the street. However, it certainly could not be described as small.

The only reason why AC kept his bed in the sitting room was that he sub-let the three bedrooms to foreigners to supplement his income. One – a back-packer from New Zealand – assumed that I would soon be joining them until I explained that I was a long-term resident of Edinburgh.

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A creepy Cotswolds hotel and a fight for fish fingers (Rousse)

The reviews for the Cotwolds hotel were amazing, but the longer that JC and I stayed there, the less inclined we were to recommend it ourselves. The two owners were rather creepy, following us around everywhere. When they complained about the state of our bedroom I was tempted to reply that they should worry less about guests’ clothes lying heaped on the floor, and more about the damp coming in through the mouldy walls. It was also ridiculous that I had been obliged to wash my hair using the bottom drawer of a chest as a basin.

We were just going into dinner (very late at 9pm) when we bumped into LF and two friends. I pulled L into the ladies to warn her about the hotel and its poor service.

Later, while trying to catch a bus in the middle of nowhere, I got into a fight over the last two fish fingers offered for sale by a roadside pedlar.

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Clever words win Russell Crowe (Belle)

The dog and I stood at the top of the hill, admiring the view in front of us – lush green valleys and emerald green woods.  The view behind us was a complete contrast – the whole of London was visible in the sunlight.

I wondered if the Australian ‘park ranger’ sitting on the bench realised just how lucky she was to be here?  I turned around and said something so profound and astonishing to Russell Crowe that he immediately fell in love with me.  It was inevitable – we were ‘meant to be together’.

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A missed reservation at the “best restaurant in the world” (Rousse)

We arranged to meet in Paris at 1:30pm. J chose the venue: a beautiful white stucco-fronted hotel, opposite a formal park. When I arrived (just a couple of minutes late) J greeted me enthusiastically. Although we hadn’t seen one another for years, we soon slipped into the pattern of our old friendship.

I had expected that we would eat at this hotel, but J had other plans. He led me to his car and then we crossed the city to where he was staying. At one point I got the impression that we might be dining at the Pigalle restaurant just named “best in the world”. J confessed that we’d arranged our meeting at too short notice to get a table, but perhaps this could be arranged for next time.

He spent the rest of the trip complaining about Teesside accents. I pointed out that he would have to get used to them quickly now that my school friend M had been appointed to chair all the important meetings of our main professional body.

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