Rousse goes roller blading in the snow

I was delighted to be appointed to the job in Amsterdam, and soon fell in love with my new colleagues – especially the small man. However, before anything else I had to decide which desk to take. I chose the one next to the bed. Then I got down to some work.

As we came to the end of the working day I wondered how I would get home for the evening. It was a long way back to Scotland, and already 10:30pm. TPR would be wondering what had become of me.

It was only now that it dawned on me how impractical it was to take a job in the Netherlands. I decided not to bother going home after all. Instead I spent the rest of the evening roller blading in the snow.

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Call me doctor, and please support the pandas (Rousse)

I never thought that I would be forced to encounter sixth form bullies Nasty N and Crafty C after I left school, but here they were, just across the room. It was over thirty years too late, but now – at long last – I had the courage to tackle them.

I shouted loudly that it was shameful to pick on someone on the basis of hair colour. My audience cheered. I continued in my rant drawing parallels with unwarranted discrimination against others on the basis of race, gender, and sexuality. A man in the front row offered his support by declaring that everyone should give a donation to the zoo to help fund the pandas.

Nasty N, dressed in a bright orange cocktail dress, was clearly ashamed of her part in the name-calling. She broke free from her partner in crime to ran up to me and start a private conversation. She told me about her wayward sixteen year old daughter, and her own failure to find a life-partner. Meanwhile Crafty C was unrepentant. She screamed back at me angrily, topping all her insults with the cruellest one of all: calling me “Ms” instead of “Dr”.

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“Match made in heaven” hits the rocks after just two years (Rousse)

Four of us were on holiday in York when X confessed that she was about to end her marriage to Y. I pointed out that it was far too early to give up on one another: they’d barely been married two years. She protested that she could not live with a husband who lacked any warmth.

This news completely overshadowed a long weekend away. Up until this point we had all been happily playing together in the swimming pool with fake waves, and taking guided cab tours around the city.

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Sir Sean Connery and Simon Cowell appalled by aging actress’ wig (Rousse)

From the fourth row in the stalls my student party had a very clear view of Sir Sean Connery, Simon Cowell and the rest of the panel on stage. I watched Sir Sean closely when the star performer of the afternoon was announced as a former leading lady with a passion for the James Bond star.

The aging actress took to the ice with her baby grand-daughter in her arms. She successfully skated about 10 yards before falling flat on her face. Luckily the baby slid gracefully to the side of the rink, completely unharmed. Of course the actress herself was incredibly embarrassed, especially when her wig flew off her head and skidded almost the whole length of the rink, right up to where the panel was seated. Sir Sean was less than impressed.

Although this was all very amusing to the audience, I still believed that our attendance here was a complete waste of public money. When it was announced that the next performance would involve the screening of the second season of an American drama series that had already been broadcast in the States I broke my silence and openly expressed my annoyance. What on earth would my Knowledge Management class learn from this?

Just as I was about to complain more loudly the American sponsor of the university leaned over and threatened from a couple of seats further along the row: “This is not meant to be a purely commercial deal, but if you want us to maintain your current level of funding, I suggest that you keep your mouth shut”.

Simon Cowell can be found elsewhere on Dreamaticus. See:

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A mismanaged meeting and three glug jugs (Rousse)

I raced as fast as I could to the meeting. AC and JB were in hot pursuit, not far behind me. As I suspected, the A6 to Penrith was closed so we had to take a quick diversion to reach our destination in time.

Once at the meeting we found our seats. I sat next to HJ and her daughter NJ. Both were drinking white wine. The Principal took her place as chair of the meeting at the head of the table. For the third time in a row she failed to get through the agenda. On this occasion she was distracted by a tiny Indian child who was (apparently) the cause of all her woes and deserved a good beating.

This was too painful to watch. I focused instead on picking apart JB’s sculpture made from three glug jugs. Once I had separated the jugs I asked if I could keep them. JB was delighted that I could give them a home.

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1970s disco revives old college campus (Rousse)

With CT and others from her year group I helped organise a disco in the mezzanine above the refectory of Queen Margaret University’s old Corstorphine campus. With songs from the seventies booming out, I knew that we’d all have a fabulous time.

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Thomson Reuters presentation mishap blamed on mismatched brown boots (Rousse)

At the very last minute, just as the delegates were arriving, SW suggested that I check the set-up of the computers for my opening presentation. We quickly worked out that to get onto Thomson Reuters for a company search you first needed to press the blue button, then the red. We assumed that all was fine.

However, when one of the first delegates through the door announced that the majority of people attending had decided to come along to this event instead of an important local authority conference, we were suddenly forced to change venue.

BC’s wife B offered to drive me straight there. This was very kind of her, but then I noticed that I was wearing odd brown boots. I wanted to return home first to sort out my footwear before taking the stage. B retracted her offer of a lift, and I knew then that the day was doomed.

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The Desert Island Discs theory of mathematics (Rousse)

For once ST seemed just as excited as me that we were meeting in my dreams again. As soon as JC dismissed herself from a three-way conversation about A level maths test results (she scored a mere 40%), I got ST to myself and the conversation flowed and flowed.

I told ST that I wished that I had taken A level maths too, making mention of my Desert Island Discs theory that many of the most successful people start their professional lives with first degrees in maths or physics.

In response ST asked why I had been so “dark” in the sixth form. I replied that this was not the case, but that I sometimes felt left out due to my background and academic interests. This “problem” vanished when I reached university and I found myself surrounded by others just like me.

By now we were walking along the street arm in arm. I hurriedly made it clear that I valued our renewed friendship. However, I was not looking for an intimate relationship: I was very happily married to TPR.

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Kittens come home (Rousse)

I didn’t care that I was allergic to cats. I wanted two kittens, and I wanted them now.

The two men from the animal rescue centre opened up a couple of crates. Each one was crammed with a selection of poor creatures from which I was expected to make my choice. One man was keen that I consider a fully-grown cat, but I insisted on kittens. I chose a brown one and a black one from the same litter and carried them home in a closed brown cake box.

I knew TPR would be furious, but he needn’t have worried. My back-up plan was to pass the kittens on to GB and SPC just as soon as I was bored with them.

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