Snow, cyclists, and a six stone friend (Rousse)

We stepped out into our yard to discover that it was snowing – in May. With a shudder TPR pulled the front door shut behind us and we set off up the road to meet our friends for coffee. On the way we were stopped by a couple cyclists on East Claremont Street, one of whom claimed that I had taught him as an undergraduate. In the short time that we were talking to them the snow melted all around us.

The last part of the short route to the café included a dangerous obstacle: an open culvert on Leith Walk about three feet across. It had been widening for weeks and now took some measure of agility to jump across it.

In the open-air café we joined our friends over three tables and discussed diets. LM confessed that she had recently dropped to six stone two.

Afterwards TPR did a friend a favour. JM’s girlfriend had taken ill at work so TPR offered to pick her up and take her home.

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Bridezilla drama (Rousse)

This bride was the most demanding I had ever come across. Rather than a wedding ceremony, her nuptials comprised a full scale theatrical performance over five acts, during which every guest was expected to play a speaking part.

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Rousse reviews a package holiday in Puerto Rico

Puerto Rico was such a dump. I was so relieved that we hadn’t suggested we come here on holiday with my Canadian cousins at Easter. Unfortunately though, we were still stuck in the shabby resort for a week and would have to make the best of it.

The holiday began with a tedious lecture on nothing in particular. We sat indoors on hard white plastic chairs wondering what on earth we were doing here. We’d been listening for three hours and still the speaker gave no indication of how longer much we would be cooped up in the crowded hall. I could take it no longer and stuck up my hand to interrupt. “I’m a lecturer”, I called out “And I spend much of my time in classrooms just like this. I am on holiday. I want to do something different. How much longer do we have to sit here?”

My interruption had the desired effect and within minutes we were released to sample the delights of the resort. A stranger came up to me and whispered “They know who you are. The boss is busy tweeting everyone telling them to watch out for you.” I didn’t care.

There wasn’t much to explore around the hotel. The “restaurants” were nothing more than grubby canteens. Here the staff expected payment, even though the resort was meant to be all-inclusive. The one beach was small and shingly, and was clearly not the one displayed in proud photographs on the resort web site. The only thing that I could approve of here was the lovely warm temperature of the sea water.

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A shocking pink shopping trolley visits the swimming pool (Rousse)

I was the proud owner of the latest in shocking pink shopping trolleys. Fashioned along the lines of a small upright hoover, there was plenty of room in the “bag” for gym kit. However, at the swimming pool I discovered a drawback: it was almost impossible to fit it into a locker.

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Bathroom flood at Belle’s (Rousse)

I was a little surprised to wake up in the big bed at Belle’s house next to my co-investigator. However, there was no point in worrying about this: it was time to get up, washed, dressed, and off to work.

Belle had told me that the bath took an age to fill, so I left my companion under the eiderdown, padded through to the bathroom to start running the bath water, then wandered downstairs to find some breakfast. Unfortunately the problem with the water had resolved itself overnight and by the time I returned upstairs the bath tub was overflowing. The flood on the floor was about to leak straight through to the kitchen below.

Belle and I hastened to the bathroom with small jugs to empty the water from the tub. My co-investigator was nowhere to be seen.

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New business model for raising charitable funds rakes in thousands (Rousse)

This woman was a genius! She’d developed a new business model for raising funds for charities and was raking in thousands. The way it worked was that she would set up shop in the house of the recently deceased, then open the doors to shoppers who were free to work their way through the dead person’s belongings. The customers paid cash on the spot for anything that took their fancy.

The first time that I attended such a charity sale I really enjoyed myself combing the cupboards of a dead woman from Newington. Not only did I find a bargain white bath towel, but I also had fun playing detective work on the dead. My investigations revealed that the deceased was a size 8 spinster in her mid-sixties who had worked as a primary school teacher. She’d left at least one nephew, and it was probably he who was responsible for the huge quantity of unopened gift packs of bubblebath, soaps and the like stockpiled in the bedroom wardrobe.

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An unwelcome zip tip (Rousse)

I needed a real expert to help me replace the zips in all my clothes, so went straight to the top: MSB.

I was really disappointed when she regretted that she couldn’t help me. Unfortunately she was up to her ears in wedding gowns. The best that she could do was recommend an inferior substitute.

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A spell of levitation (Rousse)

AV typed out her question on the old-fashioned typewriter. In short, she was telling me that I wasn’t pulling my weight, and that it was high time that I took a greater share of the work. Beneath her question I started typing my response. She complained at the length of it: all I needed to do was confirm my participation with the single word “yes”.

I felt my stress levels rise and my body reacted in the usual way. Despite all attempts to stay fixed to the ground, I started to levitate, and within seconds I was floating in mid-air.

“Please be ready to catch me when I fall!” I shouted down to AV and SS below. Both were now even more annoyed with me.

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Inside Rousse’s five year diary

KJR came to tell me that her mother was writing her life story and that I featured in it. “She’s reached the bit where three of us stayed in a cottage in the highlands during the school holidays”, she explained. I couldn’t really remember this, but help was at hand: I happened to have my five year diary from 1974-1979 right next to me, so was soon able to cross-reference the dates and confirm the visit.

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Ski-ing and smoking (Rousse)

The hotel brochure displayed page after page of glossy photographs of bright young things enjoying Alpine conditions on the nearby Scottish ski slopes. This gave the impression of glamour, when in reality the hotel itself was little more than a youth hostel.

I was in trouble with the staff because I had wandered around the public rooms all day in a red onesie. They were in trouble with me for allowing a middle-aged blonde woman to light up in the dining room. I made myself even less popular when I screeched “That cow is smoking. Get her out of here!”

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