The complexities of catching a train from Carlisle (Rousse)

After a long day chasing over the hills of Northumberland, it was time for us to head north again by train from Carlisle. The taxi that we booked to take us to the station arrived late so it was an anxious journey along the A69. The views of late summer snow on the hills, and in some places even at the side of the road, provided some distraction.

It was twenty past the hour when we reached the M6. Our train was at half past. It looked like we would make it, but then we hit a traffic jam. The driver pulled into the fast lane, overtook a few cars, then bumped his way back into the sliproad signposted “Carlisle”. As we approached the railway bridge, we came across another line of stationary cars in front of us. I asked the driver to drop us off there and then so that we could make a run for it. He flung our suitcase on to the pavement, TPR gave him £36, and we scarpered.

I’d forgotten about the complexity of Carlisle railway station with its various Victorian staircases. There was one for each service. It took a while for us to find the staircase for trains heading north, but as soon as we did, we hared up the steps, praying that we had not missed our train.

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Family entertainment (Rousse)

It was my mother-in-law’s dream: a house full of children of all ages enjoying one another’s company. The older ones were in the vast garden playing cricket under the guidance of my colleague RK. The smaller children were kept at closer range.

In the absence of her mother JR, I was looking after my beautiful newborn baby niece, swaddled in a soft cream blanket that matched her peaches and cream complexion. Her eighteen month old cousin sat patiently in his pushchair, overseen by his Indian grandfather.

But where was TPR? I went inside to ask my sister-in-law if she had seen him.

“He’s in my bedroom, trying to persuade the others to hire the Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre for our next family get-together”. This suggestion very much met with my approval.

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Kitchen makeover decisions (Rousse)

Others found our living arrangements somewhat unconventional. TPR and I lived in the apartment on one side of the building, and MSB and her husband DB the other. We shared the massive kitchen.

It only became a problem when I decided that it was high time that we modernised the kitchen – that yellow woodchip wallpaper had to go – and the others didn’t agree with me.

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An illogical trip to Birmingham (Rousse)

I popped out of our Broughton Street tenement and down to the corner shop. I needed some extra milk because AMcN and her husband PP had just rung to say that they wanted to take a break on their journey south. They decided to call in for a cup of tea with us and I was, of course, delighted.

When I returned to our building I discovered that a great crevasse had opened just inside the door. There was no way that I could get back upstairs to my flat.

I managed to track down the millionaire who lived in the penthouse at the top of the building and told him of my discovery. He bundled me into the car and we set off to West Midlands to find out what had happened to Broughton Street. As he drove us the wrong way down the Pershore Road I began to doubt that we would find in Birmingham the answers to questions about a building in Edinburgh.

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Tom Skelton’s one-man show, a dress from Woolworths, Dave Eggers, and icing penguins (Rousse)

Although by mid-September the Edinburgh Fringe was well and truly over, a few acts had stayed in town to try their luck with the locals and last of the summer tourists.

Tom Skelton of Racing Minds was still performing his solo show in a tiny venue hidden down a shadowy close in Bruntsfield. The venue was so small that its capacity was limited to just the performer and one audience member. I counted myself lucky to be the one with the single ticket to the show today. Audience participation was unavoidable in such circumstances, although it has to be said that Tom would not be drawn on the mechanics of his magic tricks and comedy. He was a true professional. Would he be the next Rik Mayall, I wondered?

Half way through the performance my mobile phone rang. It was my long-dead Granny H full of concern about a dress that she had bought for me from Woolworths. The garment in question was now in the post heading in my direction, but she was worried that it wouldn’t fit. I told her that I would just take it back if that was the case (completely forgetting that Woolworths is no more).

When the show was over a few more fans squeezed into the room to see the star. Amongst them were my school friend AG and his wife, who had also come along to thank me for a book recommendation. I had suggested that they read The circle by Dave Eggers in preparation for their move to California.

Meanwhile Tom worked quietly in the corner putting away the props for the show just ended, and preparing another set for his next. Amongst these was a huge cream cake. It was decorated on top with a colony of three dozen six inch tall penguins, cleverly crafted in black and white icing.

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Mammal or amphibian? The curious case of the “salamander” (Rousse)

The four-legged creature was the size of a small labrador and sported the most beautiful brown multi-toned short fur coat. At first glance it looked like a dog, but it didn’t exhibit dog-like behaviour: it had no curiosity whatsoever, and never barked.

Its owner explained that it was a salamander. This couldn’t possibly be right. It was obvious that this was no amphibian, but a small mammal.

I asked TPR to pass my iPad mini so that I could take a photograph of the strange creature and make further investigations.

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Post-PhD depression – Miss Haversham style (Rousse)

She had been depressed for years and now we finally knew why. We found her in her usual spot in bed, cradling a large green cloth-bound book.

It was all too apparent that she had never really recovered from the high-spot of her promising career in the early 1990s as she clung on to the second volume of her PhD thesis, unable to let it out of her sight, in a fashion reminiscent of Miss Haversham’s enduring attachment to her wedding dress.

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A trip to Thistledown Street (Rousse)

The first thing that I noticed when I turned the corner into the crescent was that the ugly modern lamp-posts had been replaced. The new ones took the form of old-style gas lamps, and looked lovely.

Then I spotted the road sign. Apparently I now lived in “Thistledown Street”.

Even more interesting were the signs hanging along the buildings. All painted Georgian drab green, they revealed the trades of my neighbours. There were now plenty of opportunities to go shopping, late eighteenth century style, right on my doorstep.

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Sad of fate of seal fur teddy left on train (Rousse)

Somewhere south of Northallerton the train ground to a halt, the carriage fell dark, and the guard called to the passengers to climb out to the track as fast as they could.

I grabbed my green handbag and laptop bag, then followed CI out of the carriage door. She was so keen to escape danger that she scaled the summit of a nearby artificial mountain. I kept as close to her as I could, despite my distress. I was beside myself having realised that I had left my grey seal fur teddy on the train.

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Flirting with your friend’s ex (Rousse)

I lost my friend as soon as we came out of the cinema. I concluded that she probably wanted to avoid an awkward conversation about her recent relationship break-up.

However, that was not the last I saw of her that day. I found her later at a dinner, looking tiny at the table. She called over to me in a weak voice that she felt dreadful, then promptly collapsed. I called upon a male friend to carry her away. Airport staff wrapped her in a blanket in the departure lounge. They would look after her until I was able to collect her.

This would be some time. I was too busy flirting with my so-called friend’s ex-boyfriend to rush to her rescue. (Incidentally my sister was doing the same with her own ex. Such bad behaviour runs in our family.)

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