Rousse waits for Mr Right

Posted on March 22, 2013 by Dreamaticus

I’d done it again: of the two suitors who came my way, I ended up with the inferior one. I wondered how long I could keep him at bay before TPR appeared on the scene. Surely he’d turn up soon?

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Rousse rejects life as a singleton

Posted on March 20, 2013 by Dreamaticus

I had already clocked up one divorce so it was a dreadful day when TPR admitted that he had “gone off” me.

Adapting to a single life was no fun at all. I tried going out with the girls from university (including SPC) and others from school (AMcN, CM) but I had simply forgotten how to behave as an unattached woman.

Then I bumped into TPR at a hotel. He had changed his mind and wanted me back. Thank goodness he hadn’t mentioned any of this to his mother: no damage had been done.

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Intelligent bubble wrap causes Heathrow travel chaos (Rousse)

Posted on March 19, 2013 by Dreamaticus

After dropping out of university, PM had pursued a career in insurance – or so we believed. I’d certainly not expected him to become the inventor of intelligent bubble wrap. He rolled some out across a workshop table to show off its special properties. With a slightly blueish hue, it moved about on its own accord. PM explained that it had many applications over and above parcelling fragile objects: some people even liked to wear intelligent bubble wrap boiler suits over their ordinary clothes.

While PM continued to enthuse about intelligent bubble wrap I checked my watch. It was 14:45 and my flight left at 15:45. We’d spent far too long admiring PM’s marvellous invention. I needed to get to the airport fast – now! PM told me not to worry, I’d easily make my flight.

Unfortunately I lost my purple carry-on suitcase and all my belongings at Heathrow Airport. Without any identification I could not board a plane. I was stuck here forever until my luggage was found. My only hope of escape from the airport came when RL brought me my iPhone. My next priority would be to buy an iPad mini from duty free – once someone gave me some money.

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Teenaged tutors at the University of Oxford (Rousse)

Posted on March 18, 2013 by Dreamaticus

It was festival time in Edinburgh and celebrities were everywhere. When we passed a BBC van my niece BMcC recognised a famous drama director and Oxford academic. As B was a keen actress herself, and planning to take up a place at Oxford in the new academic year, she felt compelled to introduce herself.

“Hello, I’m B”, she said. “I’m a huge fan of yours, and will also be joining you in Oxford in October.”

The drama director smiled kindly and answered “Ah, to teach?” mistaking B for someone much older.

This reply was clearly far too confusing for a teenage brain to process, so B simply replied “Yes”.

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Rousse’s presentation skills are pushed to the limit

Posted on March 18, 2013 by Dreamaticus

I gathered the print-outs of my typed notes and turned up at the classroom as planned to give the students a quick run-down on the third year placement module. Once inside, however, I found my boss and a couple of senior male colleagues seated in a panel formation with full secretarial back-up. They were assessing student presentations, two at a time.

My arrival was both unexpected and disruptive. However the panel insisted that the secretary display my notes on an overhead projector so that I could make my presentation over and over again for every student pair. I did so out of obedience, but it was a complete shambles: the type-written notes were never meant to be used as AV materials so the font was far too small to be read from a screen; the secretary mixed up the sheets of paper so that they were presented in a random order each time; and it was terribly tedious for the panel members to hear what I had to say time and time again.

When I was later criticised for my terrible presentation I argued fiercely that what I had prepared was a short talk to presented once to a small set of students. It wasn’t my responsibility that the format was hijacked by the panel.

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Drug addiction contributes to project failure (Rousse)

Posted on March 17, 2013 by Dreamaticus

The pallor of the student’s skin shone blue, as did the whites of his eyes. Here was yet another case of drug addiction amongst the undergraduates. I could also read confusion in his expression as he handed over his dissertation. He clearly had not expected ever to see me again.

Last year we had agreed to his request that I no longer supervise his honours project. The tutor originally assigned the second marker role took over as supervisor. What the student had not appreciated was that I would still be marking his dissertation in a simple supervisory team role switch-around. Nor did he realise that in admitting that his submission was “a load of rubbish” he’d made it so much easier for us to fail his work.

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Where to live in south London (Rousse)

Posted on March 17, 2013 by Dreamaticus

I was looking for a new flat in south London. I needed to track down an expert for the best advice on where to live.

I considered the qualifications of my friend ECM. Every day she travelled by train from Winchester in impossible high heels and tiny black hot pants to sell her artistic creations on a south London market stall. She was the perfect choice to pass on all the information I needed.

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Dead grandmother joins Rousse on an uncomfortable trip to Ireland (Rousse)

Posted on March 16, 2013 by Dreamaticus

It was a long journey to Ireland by sea and coach. My poor Granny H, dressed in her usual uniform of camel, smiled the whole way, but in my heart I knew that she was not enjoying herself – especially since she was dead.

The first stop on our trip was a museum with a beautiful ornate ceiling. The best exhibit was a demonstration of British Rail technology for route planning from the 1970s. Museum visitors gathered around the table to examine square lumps of luminous green jelly. We soon discovered that these were an early form of microfiche. When slotted into the special readers, the jellies revealed all the timetable details needed to plan rail journeys around the UK.

After the museum visit NP, SC and I met in the pub. We sat at the bar on leather stools discussing a paper that SC had prepared on childhood development. A rough-looking young man to the left of me gave the impression of wanting to join in the conversation, but we were not fooled. He was really after the contents of our handbags. Where were TPR and Simon when we needed them? I pushed my handbag well out of this man’s reach and we continued our conversation without him.

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A beautiful pale pink backless cotton-silk top finds a new home (Rousse)

Posted on March 16, 2013 by Dreamaticus

I was sorting through my mother’s knitting and found a lovely unworn pale pink backless cotton-silk top. I knew just the person for this exclusive handmade garment: my friend NP.

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Ditching a Hugh Grant lookalike leads to divorce disaster number 2 (Rousse)

Posted on March 15, 2013 by Dreamaticus

How had I got myself into such a terrible mess?

Six weeks earlier I’d ditched a gorgeous Hugh Grant lookalike for this hapless, over-tall, skinny-framed, dark greasy-haired, pale-faced idiot hovering at conference reception in an ill-fitting suit. What was he doing here, bringing shame on me in front of my important professional colleagues? Only five minutes earlier DT and I had been snuggling up to a top industry guru, planning a joint blogging project. Now both of them would be wondering why I was wasting my life on such a loser.

I ushered my unwanted husband across the hall, through the revolving doors and outside, urging him to go back home. He attempted to kiss me goodbye, but I pushed him away in disgust.

Then he dropped a bombshell. He was suffering from depression and had no intention of seeking medical help. I wondered how shameful it would be to abandon him in such a state, and divorce twice within the space of a year?

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