US air show “disaster” miracle (Rousse)

I wondered whether a holiday in Scotland was sufficient entertainment for my two girlfriends. However, all my doubts evaporated on our last day when the skies cleared, the sun came out, and we stumbled upon a spectacular air display.

We had no advance notice that three massive American air force planes were about to fly overhead. Our first clue was the crowd of anoraked men and boys lined up along the riverbank, all holding binoculars and cameras up to the sky. I approached a man with his teenage son and asked what they were waiting for.

“Haven’t you heard?”, the father replied, appalled at my ignorance. “The three largest planes in the US air force are calling in here in a few minutes. They’re en route from the Humber Bridge in Hull, Yorkshire to the North Humber Bridge in Hull, Sutherland. They are going to perform a few loops in the sky and then land nose-first in a pit. We’re all here to take photos.”

I was a bit confused to hear that there was a second Humber Bridge, as well as another town called Hull in the far north of Scotland. Nevertheless, this display sounded well worth watching so I shouted over to my friends that we should all get our cameras out and take position. We found a good vantage point away from the main crowd and hunted for our cameras. Mine was at the bottom of my bag and in the rush to find it I ended up scattering a whole load of my possessions all over the grass. As the roar of the planes on approach could be heard overhead I thought I had discovered my camera, but then realised that I had mistaken the pouch for my waterproof trousers for the camera case. It was too late for me to hunt any longer. I hoped that my friends would capture some good shots that they would be willing to share with me.

The three planes completed their loops in the sky and it now looked like they were preparing to head off again to the far north. “Well, that was fun” I thought, climbing down a grassy bank to pick up my belongings from the rectangular dip into which they had fallen.

Then I heard the roar of the planes’ engines again. I glanced sky-wards and saw that the plane at the front of the formation was heading straight towards me. I had forgotten that the man said that the planes were going to land nose-first in a pit.

I was in the pit. The plane was coming straight for me. The crowd screamed at me to get out of the way – not for my safety, but because I would ruin their photographs. I froze as the plane nose-planted with an enormous thud just inches away from me and the belongings that I had not yet had a chance to retrieve. How I survived the impact, I have no idea. It was a miracle.

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Edinburgh airport attractions (Rousse)

The latest attractions at Edinburgh Airport were a prehistoric carving of a horse’s head, and a tightrope challenge that hung across a muddy stream. I was most interested in the former, and TPR in the latter.

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British Airways’ abandoned brides (Rousse)

We were just boarding the plane when it became obvious that the passenger in tears was not alone in her predicament. Two women in this queue were the victims of heartless men who thought nothing of dumping their fiancées just hours before their respective weddings.

While I was wondering what these two would do about their wedding receptions (which were presumably all booked and paid for) another woman started to wail. This one was very thin. She wore her dark hair long and lank over her heavily made-up face, a smart shirt, and a floor-length navy blue pleated skirt. Then I realised that she was not a member of the travelling public, but one of the British Airways cabin crew on our flight. She screamed that she too had been abandoned at the alter. I took the BA staff member aside to mutter words of comfort along the lines of “Well, at least a broken engagement now is less hassle than a divorce in the future”.

Then I noticed that one of the other abandoned brides had cheered up considerably. She announced to all within earshot that she would still hold her wedding reception, and the passengers were invited to join the celebration. She would host it with the abandoned groom that she had just found in the queue.

I knew that this new couple would be very happy together on the basis that they both sported tattoos of islands. Hers was an outline of Tenerife sketched across her shoulder, and his of an unidentified island (possibly Greek?) visible beneath the flip-flop strap on his right foot.

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Abingdon secrets (Rousse)

Abingdon would hardly have been my choice for a weekend away, but TPR was determined that this would be the perfect venue to relax for a couple of days. He was also completely unaware that this was where my ex-boyfriend lived, and that he and I had been sending flirty texts to one another for weeks – in fact ever since I knew that I would be heading south and that there was an outside chance of seeing one another again.

As things turned out, my ex himself was away for the weekend, so we never had the chance to meet. Instead TPR decided that the most exciting venue in Abingdon was a church hall where he drank whisky by the tumbler and showed off his muscles to an excitable audience of girls with cameras. My only hope was that he would never see the long and shameful correspondence that still lurked within my iPhone.

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King’s College London appoints new professor (Rousse)

“Congratulations on the new job!” called out one of DB’s neighbours as we walked along his street.

He now had no option but to confess that he would be taking up a new post at King’s College London in the new year. I wondered how all this fitted with his REF panel work?

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Marcus Brigstocke tour takes in the stationers (Rousse)

Marcus Brigstocke had set the exam paper so it was only natural that it was also he who accompanied me and my sister J to the stationers. Here we would purchase some scrap paper on which I could plan my essay answers.

My preference was for coloured multiple-lined paper of the type that was sold by Gibert Jeune on the Boulevard St Michel in Paris in the early 1980s. After much hunting around we found what we were looking for and paid for it. It was only when we opened the pack out on the street that we discovered that this paper was already used. On the reverse of each blank sheet there were notes about French literature in my very own hand. These dated back to my undergraduate days in France over thirty years ago.

When J and I eventually returned to the White House in Stockton-on-Tees, we learnt (40 years late) that (1) Grandpa H had died, (2) our father had taken up residence in a hospital fridge, and (3) our sister S had transformed the upstairs pantry into her new bedroom.

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Rousse’s marker pen mix-up

We would never be allowed to stay at this bed and breakfast again now that I’d written all over the pink sitting room carpet in marker pen. My defence was ready: I mistook the carpet for a whiteboard.

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Harry Potter tattoos: the only clue to “Pedro’s” past (Rousse)

I lost TPR during the final stage of the long journey to the US aboard an ocean liner. Occasionally I would spot him in the distance across deck, usually driving one of the small open cars used for deliveries by the ship’s staff. He never acknowledged me. It was as if we had no shared past at all.

One day I had the opportunity to confront him. I was chatting to a family when a silver car approached us. “That will be our driver Pedro” said one of my companions. TPR emerged from the driver’s seat. The moment he saw me he ran to the back of the car and jumped into the boot to hide. He was trapped and had no option but to answer my questions. How did he expect me to go through labour all alone to deliver our baby? Did he have any intention of joining me again in the future to help bring up our child?

“Get lost”, he hissed. “I’m an illegal immigrant, so my best disguise is that of a Mexican driver”. I had to admit that he had done quite a good job with his new image. He’d lost quite a lot of muscle tone so now looked very skinny. It was also obvious that he’d been working hard on his tan to develop a Latin complexion. His little moustache added to the authenticity of his new image.

Then I noticed the tattoos! This was a step too far. He knew how much I hated “body art”. How could he do this to himself (and, by association, to me)? His pathetic excuse was that the tattoos were the only means he had to connect to his former life in Scotland. When I looked more closely I began to appreciate my husband’s strategy: every tattoo was based on a Harry Potter theme. My favourite was the representation of George Heriot’s School in Edinburgh as Hogwarts. However, it was still quite a blow to realise that not a single one made any reference to TPR’s former life with me.

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David Tennant dons disguise for Dr Who day visits (Rousse)

The timelord had landed. I knew this because I heard a clatter of footsteps as the Doctor and his crew descended the steps to our basement flat. David Tennant had made some effort to disguise himself by blackening his face, and his assistant had tried hard too, dressed up as a dowdy middle-aged woman. However, since they were both shepherded by a camera crew and a sound team carrying masses of equipment, they were hardly making their visit incognito.

“I am holding the prisoner in here” announced TPR, in greeting to our timelord visitor. As he unlocked the cellar I wondered what he was talking about. The Doctor, his assistant and I followed TPR through the cellar door. Right at the far end of the cellar we came face to face with the so-called “prisoner”: a full-size Dalek, bleeping mournfully in the dark.

“Excellent!” shouted the Doctor cheerily. “Do you have anything else in the house?”

Before coming inside David Tennant wiped off his make-up. He then picked me up in the hall just outside the kitchen door and planted two big kisses on each of my cheeks. I wanted to comment on his surprising height (before meeting him I had no idea that he was 6’4″) and his likeness to our friend SM, but I felt that it would be rude to do so. So instead I pointed out the rail of theatrical costumes (in reality a range of ancient fur coats from our dressing-up box) that we keep in the hall, and then took him into the kitchen where our brother-in-law RH had lined up two further surprises for our visitor. These were our silver Dalek biscuit barrel (a present from TPR’s sister S), and the sonic screw driver that AM gave to TPR at Easter. We hoped that these precious objects would help our timelord visitor feel at home.

More David Tennant on Dreamaticus:

More Dr Who on Dreamaticus:

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Tsunami victim gathers up beach wear and the wounded (Rousse)

I thought that I had left my belongings far enough up the beach for them to be safe. Then a huge wave appeared from nowhere and dragged everything in its path back into the sea. With the help of my university friend SB (now SD) I managed to retrieve six or seven bikinis from the sea floor. When I gathered them all together afterwards I doubted that they could be mine. They were so tiny. Was I ever that small?

At least neither SB nor I had been injured. I pitied a man whose ear had been severed off in the watery crush and who now appeared to have lost his hearing. I vowed to support him as best I could. He was clearly someone less fortunate than me and it was now my duty to take care of him.

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