Rousse misses an important appointment

The woman sharing the pavement with me eventually lost her temper and ordered me to stop texting. I was making it impossible for her to get past me. Rather than meekly give in to her wishes, I decided to make the peace. I took her hand and announced that we would walk along London Road together. She like this idea because it gave her a chance to tell me all about her life as a Jewish immigrant to the UK in the 1960s.

Then I noticed the missed calls on my i-phone – plus the time and our current location. It was 17:50 and we were amongst the sheep that graze the banks of the Water of Leith in North Edinburgh. At 18:00 I was due on stage in Craiglockhart at the other side of the city! Even if I managed to catch a taxi immediately, I would still be horribly late. What is more, I couldn’t possibly deliver a lecture in faded black linen loons and an ill-fitting dirty grey T shirt.

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Young “Arthur Weasley” assists in railway murder hunt (Rousse)

The biggest clue that I had time-travelled was that Mark Williams (better known as Arthur Weasley in the Harry Potter movies) looked so young. He must have only been in his mid to late twenties.

As the manager of Worcester railway station, he was helping the police with murder enquiries. They had discovered a second body on the tracks within a short two week period, and now it was feared that a train-spotting serial killer was on the loose.

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An unplanned journey to the Hebrides (Rousse)

My father paid £19 each for all five of us to visit the castle and within minutes I had ruined everyone’s day. How was I to know that the bus was not a shuttle around the estate, but instead a commercial coach taking foreign tourists to the Kyle of Lochalsh and the Hebrides?

Had I anticipated such a long journey, I would have worn more than just a tartan towelling dressing gown over my blue and white striped swimsuit, and carried a mobile phone. It felt terrible to be separated from my parents and sisters. They would be worried sick, completely unaware of what had become of me.

However, putting on a brave face, I made the best of the morning journey by chatting to tourists about the beaches of Harris and Lewis, then arguing about architecture with a Dane who held a fascination for the very ordinary 1970s box house.

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Class-conscious Cotswolds offers mixed welcome (Rousse)

Everyone* we knew had moved to the Cotswolds. We drove down to see if life there would suit us too.

My sister J set up an introduction for us with the vicar’s wife, also newly arrived in the village. The vicarage was at the top of an extremely steep gravelly hill and we wondered how they managed to haul all the furniture, including a grand piano, up to the house. Even bringing the grocery shopping home must be an olympian effort. Everything came up by hand. Not even a four-wheel drive could negotiate the steepness of that terrifying hill.

The vicar’s wife was a young, blonde, academic and very friendly. After our strenuous climb up to the house, however, we were disappointed that she did not offer us a cup of tea. It soon became clear that our welcome was on a time limit, so we soon wandered back down to the village again.

Later that morning I discovered that I was the only guest left in the hotel for the day. It was clear that the staff did not realise that I was still in the building. I heard them going loudly through the bookings for lunch. Rather than assigning tables by guest name, they described the diners by social class. When I heard “Working class father and boy with aspirations” I matched the description to the vicar and his son. Lunchtime was all the more interesting with the knowledge that the all the seating was planned by social rank.

My own booking was a table for two at 2pm. My dining partner was JG, on secondment from the US to the role of the hotel’s maître d’ for the summer. After everyone had been served we would enjoy a quick snack, and then JG would to teach me to dance. She dressed up specially for our date in black trousers and high-heeled black furry boots, topped with a black and white shirt. She ordered the staff to clear the tables quickly and then hang black and white awnings all around the dining room to transform it into a ball room.

I was impressed that JG took our dance class so seriously – but even this would not persuade me to move house to the Cotswolds.

*A&C, SNAHF&M, JMP&A, JRA&J

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Death au John Peel (Rousse)

I chose to die in the manner of John Peel. I stood just outside the entrance of King’s Cross Station, made my declaration, then turned back through the station concourse doors to set off to meet my maker. MW witnessed my final moments.

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Why to tack a horse (Rousse)

The High Street was almost completely covered in droppings. The only way for me to negotiate it safely was to ride a horse of my own. I found grey one in a field back at the guest house. It didn’t take too long to catch, then I jumped on its back for a steady walk back into town. There on the links I caught up with my two friends and their mounts. They encouraged me to step up the pace into a canter. Then everything started to go wrong. It was all my fault for not tacking up properly.

Within moments I had slid off the back of “my” horse and it had disappeared into the distance. Then I lost my Joey D handbag. I ended up all alone on a dark, dirty beach, ashamed at my carelessness. My only hope of escaping this mess would be to pay very close attention to AC in the hope that he would take pity on me.

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Stationery heaven and an unpaid debt (Rousse)

Normally we would have flown down to London to catch the onward flight from Heathrow. However, because we were keen to go to MS’s party on Saturday evening, we were obliged to drive down afterwards overnight. It was such a long journey, but at least the motorway was clear for most of the way.

At last we came into north London. It was early Sunday morning, so we were surprised to see a bunch of schoolgirls all dressed in their blue uniforms on their way to lessons. Their rucksacks were packed to brim: these children looked like they spent all their lives studying.

We followed the girls into a stationer’s shop. Once there I had no intention of continuing my journey any further – ever. I was in heaven amongst the beautiful displays of coloured cards, paper and pens. The table of origami sculptures was divine!

The only blot on the landscape was a scruffy man at the till complaining that he’d been unfairly treated by the shop staff. He was granted £30 compensation, took £10 and said that the rest could go to charity. What nobody else knew was that this man owed me an absolute fortune. When was he going to repay me?

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Giving up gossip for Lent: Rousse debates the Archers rules

TPR and I poured all our savings into a property purchase. Our new flat was on the first floor of a Georgian square in London that actually looked like it belonged in Edinburgh. Its size and layout very much resembled Drummond Place.

With VJ’s help, we were renovating the flat as a holiday let. It would, however, take some time to work our way through the main rooms and then the four bedrooms in the servants’ quarters. I wondered whether we needed to replace the bouncy (and possibly rotting) timber floors, and how we could cut out noise pollution from the traffic running over the cobbles outside. One thing for certain was that the ancient rusting Victorian brass bedsteads would have to go.

The phone rang just before we went to bed. Why X was ringing me from Edinburgh, I had no idea, but she seemed to have forgotten that we were no longer friends. I politely joined in the conversation, desperately trying to work out how to get her off the phone. I wasn’t sure how to handle this. I had signed up to the Archers’ Lenten vow of not indulging in gossip until after Easter, but the guidance did not cover how to get out of conversations with anyone who was often a source of gossip amongst your friends.

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Gay marriage shocker eclipsed by enemy bomb attack on UK airports (Rousse)

I met my gay friend at Edinburgh airport. After he showed me his scars he introduced me to a tall, slim and beautiful African woman, her mother and two children. These were his “wife”, “mother-in-law”, and his own son and daughter. I couldn’t believe that he had the cheek to explain the cosy family set-up with his male civil partner standing right next to him. Apparently the domestic arrangements were such that my friend enjoyed a family life. Meanwhile this woman had leave to remain in the UK with her eleven off-spring. I wondered how many other “husbands” she had acquired?

We continued through to departures together. Along the way the children played indoor ice hockey on the shiny airport floors. I helped them whenever they lost the puck.

Then a shocking message came through on the public address system. All passengers were to be super-vigilant because of breaking news of an airport attack in England. Apparently Manchester airport was under fire in retaliation for the recent allied bombing of Delhi. The voice advised us not to panic. This was difficult when you knew that there was a high possibility of a coordinated enemy attack on all UK airports, and you were currently stuck in one of them.

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Rousse’s killer presentation

CO gave me a last friendly pat on the back for good luck as we negotiated the final set of stairs to the lecture hall. This was it then. It was finally time for me to deliver the closing keynote speech at the huge SLA conference in the US. Who was more excited over this eagerly-anticipated performance: the audience or me? It was difficult to tell.

My presentation was a complete and utter disaster. In spite of the months of preparation and weeks of rehearsals the whole performance failed miserably. I forgot the main line of argument completely (even when I referred to the notes) and all the supposedly clever jokes, witty asides, and entertaining anecdotes fell flat. Then the microphone broke. Each and every audience member was appalled: they couldn’t wait for me to leave the stage.

When my 45 minutes were finally up TPR rushed over, caught me in his arms, and carried me off to safety away from the braying crowd.

Meanwhile my career was officially declared dead at the scene.

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