I was very lucky to be travelling first class by train. I kept orange juice and pains au chocolat in my pockets, and showed off my biscuit collection to my brother-in-law R. I now had every variety of Club and Kit Kit.
Then we got talking to a man interested in embarking on an MSc study in Plastics, while one of my final year Knowledge Management students looked on and reminded me not to taunt the Danes.
Martin Clunes was in town, and the cause of all the traffic disruption. The streets were crowded with hoards of fans hoping to catch a glimpse of their hero.
I must admit that I was surprised at the level of enthusiasm for Clunes’ visit. I had heard on good authority that he was “not a very nice person in real life”.
As I walked through the garden I noticed a mother and two children had set up camp there. While the mother hung her laundry – on my washing line – the small boy grabbed both of my wrists and we began to struggle. He started speaking nonsense to me. “Gosh, he’s strong” I muttered weakly to the mother who merely gave me a watery smile.
It was then that the boy became sub-titled and I could at last understand him. “You’ve got Cain in you like my father”, he said “and it comes out in your pee.”
“Better out than in”, I said, rather feebly.
Pablo the handyman was working hard on the alterations to our bedroom. By the time he finished, I would have the most spectacular set of cupboards, and plenty of space to keep all my clothes together in the same room.
I thanked Pablo with a big hug. This gave me the chance to admire his muscular torso through the fabric of his shirt, as well as acknowledge his carpentry skills.
What a coincidence to spot Prince Harry twice in the same day!
First of all I ended up just a couple of rows away from him in the stand at the Olympics reprise show. Here television footage from London 2012 was played back to a massive crowd sheltering under umbrellas in the main stadium. When I leant back to see exactly where Harry was sitting I saw that he was two rows behind me, right next to the F family. I had the perfect excuse to go and join him, so I climbed over the seats and made my way to his spot. By the time I reached it, however, he’d apparently found some friends of his own elsewhere and disappeared.
In the late afternoon TPR and I took a walk across the sand dunes, planning to wander down to the beach. It was here that I spotted Prince Harry for the second time. He was setting up his camera to photograph a red triangular putting flag planted in the grass about 100 yards away. Rather than trying to speak to him this time, we set to work photographing the photographer prince.
I’d never before applied for an academic job where all short-listed candidates were interviewed together. The panel comprised two well-respected academics: the Pro-Vice-Chancellor of an English university, who – quite out of character – had turned bad cop for the afternoon, plus his boss. The latter shouted instructions across the hall from another nearby room. They shared their time on each of us equally, giving the five of us two questions each. I went first and hoped that my answer showed leadership potential.
The second question hurled in my direction forced me to criticise my fellow candidates. In response to “Why should we give you the job?” I replied that the two Chinese candidates were without a hope because they couldn’t speak English, and that it would be impractical to employ MEB since she would have to relocate from Manchester to take up a position at Heriot-Watt University. MEB glared at me in response. That left something to say about IA of Glasgow University sitting opposite me. I suggested that he was my only real competition.
Not long after I left campus the news came through that the interview panel agreed that I was the strongest candidate for the role. I now faced a dilemma. Would I really resign from my current post and take up this new one? A fresh start at a different university was a very tempting prospect, especially given that I would have responsibility for a huge range of projects on the Romantic movement and Victorian art. The main drawback would be taking up driving again to reach the out of town campus. I needed to discuss this further with my family.
Back at the White House in the upstairs kitchen I found my mother making stuffing for the Christmas turkey. My father was next to her frying bacon rashers. They were both at a loss to advise me. However, in the dining room, my niece AF and her friends HH and LA willingly shared their opinions. With their help, I resolved to hand in my resignation the very next day.
Our journey south was delayed somewhat in Jedburgh due to the density of the Jedforest. For a 100 metre stretch you had to bend double to get through the trees.
We didn’t stay long at our final destination. There was only time for a quick dash around the exhibition and then we needed to head back to Edinburgh. TPR cheerfully jumped onto his bike and left me to work out the route home by foot all by myself.
There was no way that I was going to walk that kind of distance. I caught a National Express service from Jedburgh coach station and enjoyed the slow trundle home along the north east coast.
There were great views from the coach window. Best of all it was possible to see into the holiday camp gardens in Whitley Bay. Every square inch of grass was covered with enormous ladies sunbathing in their swimsuits. They reminded me of the characters depicted in saucy seaside postcards.
I herded my class of blue-uniformed 15 year-olds into a queue outside the remote former school house. The retired head mistress emerged to invite them in, and they settled into their places for an authentic school dinner of past times. One of my colleagues shamed us all by asking our hostess whether there might be a “wee drink” before the meal. “Of course” the school mistress replied sarcastically. “You can take the tube directly home from here afterwards as well.”
Meanwhile I had to deal with the baby. After one week of motherhood I wasn’t coping well. Today I had forgotten to dress her, and had made no arrangements for feeding while the children enjoyed their school dinner. I asked the school mistress what I could give the baby to eat. Perhaps there was a shop nearby where I could buy a jar of baby food? It turned out that there was no need for me to hunt for a shop. Instead I could use supplies from this very kitchen. I soon learnt that new-born babies simply adore lemon curd spread thickly over slices of French baguette.
