Thirsty Queen congratulates academic on latest leg of jubilee tour (Rousse)

For security reasons the date of the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee visit to campus had been kept a closely guarded secret. It was a complete coincidence that I happened to come into the office on that particular day at the height of the summer vacation.

However, my dress for the occasion was completely unsuitable. I was ashamed to be wearing my “jupe des taches”, last seen circa 1982 when I looked after D and RM as their jeune fille au pair in France. Fortunately KT came to the rescue and was able to supply me with a formal Black Watch tartan kilt. Her own outfit comprised a cotton dress also in Black Watch, finished off with a tight black bow at the collar, so we now matched one another nicely. Meanwhile LC was adamant that she would not change out of the mini-skirt that she had discovered amongst my pile of sixth form cast-offs. She was welcome to it. That particular item of clothing would certainly never fit me again.

When the Queen eventually arrived I jostled with BP for a good position to photograph her. We stood together at the front as a University dignitary took the Queen through a PowerPoint presentation that listed staff achievements. When a slide popped up describing all my recent triumphs the royal guest turned round to congratulate me in person. Then she took a sip of water from a glass.

I took this opportunity to pass on some important advice. Anyone on the move as much as the Queen would be much better off carrying a sports water bottle to quench her thirst at regular intervals. She seemed to like this idea, but how would she manage to carry a sports bottle when she was already lumbered with all those bouquets of flowers?

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Vegetable gardening failure (Belle)

While potting on the seedlings, I had a sudden crisis of confidence. Why had I thought it a good idea to plant tomatoes on the dog’s back?

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Trip to fishing tackle shop trumps rapids ride (Rousse)

For all this time my parents had believed that they couldn’t walk very far, yet here they were heading home to England from Poitiers in France by foot. My mother even managed to carry a heavy shopping bag in one hand and my father’s sheepskin jacket in the other as she followed the route.

We almost stopped off on the way to ride the rapids in a small holiday resort, but when my father spotted the Hardy fishing tackle shop across the road, we changed our plans.

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Ménage à trois shocker (Rousse)

RG was executor of ECM’s will. Finally there was someone who could explain the controversy over my school friend’s lifestyle. Apparently everyone disapproved of E and her husband P’s domestic set-up in which their housekeeper Jane was counted as one of the “couple”.

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George Clooney autograph bonanza (Rousse)

George Clooney was here!

I saw him leaning against the wall, dressed in a lightweight beige linen suit, watching everyone. Nobody else seemed to have noticed him. This was an opportunity too good to miss.

I raced over with a pen and paper and requested an autograph. He asked which one I wanted. This was a puzzling question, but soon made sense when George explained that he used a variety of writing styles. I quite liked the looped signature, but greed got the better of me and I asked for a sample of every single style in George’s written repertoire.

Happily he obliged and soon set to work filling every page of my notebook.

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Silver landmarks a huge hit with the tourists (Rousse)

For the third time JB asked if I would help teach the first years how to dance, and once more I happily accepted her invitation. Didn’t she ever read her e-mail?

Standing in her office, I also wondered why JB had never unpacked the boxes from our last departmental move of over a decade ago. I pulled back one of the cardboard lids and inside found a pile of old hardback novels. Dating from the mid-1990s, their title pages were marked up in HTML, as was the practice for a short while in the early days of the World Wide Web. (The idea was that the pages could be scanned directly into automated library systems and thus speed up cataloguing processes. This system was never widely adopted.)

Now that I had confirmed the dance class details I was free to continue my hike with ST and a few colleagues from other UK universities. Our companions included BK (Bath), BC (Manchester) and DA (Leeds). Our route took us north from Scarborough along the coastal path.

Although it was a good 30 miles north of our final destination of Whitby, all along the way we could see Roseberry Topping glistening in the distance. The local tourist board’s decision to paint all the major North Yorkshire landmarks silver was a huge success in drawing visitors to the region.

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Chocolate cheesecake recipe wins national award (Rousse)

Hidden on the back page amongst stories of minor sporting triumphs, and presented in a tiny font, I read the most exciting news. My friend DT was the overall winner of the UK chocolate cheesecake championship!

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European cyclist cheats (Rousse)

We were cycling across Europe from Istanbul by tandem. The others on the trandem were cheats. All their “pedal” power was generated by a motor hidden under the third saddle at the back of their ridiculous bike.

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A deeply regretted relocation (Rousse)

My talisman was a 12 inch long clear plastic tube just large enough in diameter to carry my mixed coin collection. It was three quarters full, so also served as a rattle for grown-ups. This provided a comfort as I tried to make sense of our foolish decision to move to London. On the underground it also attracted the attention of tramps, who tried to wrench it from my grasp whenever the lights dimmed in the carriage.

TPR and I asked ourselves over and over again why we had given up good careers, a comfortable lifestyle in Edinburgh, and easy access to the highlands to move south. Here there were no suitable jobs for us, we were forced to live in sub-standard housing, and it took two flights to reach out favourite holiday destination. Our relocation decision simply made no sense at all.

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Voodoo academic claims end to African famine (Rousse)

“Prior to the agrarian revolution…” boomed the pompous voice across the lecture hall.

We were supposed be celebrating my birthday with tea and cake, but instead were forced to listen to this overblown academic drone on and on and on, convinced that he alone could solve the problem of famine in Africa. His line of argument drew on his own latest book, a work that was based on not a single jot of empirical research.

It was rumoured that this same man kept a head and shoulders portrait of me under his desk at work so that he could stamp on it at regular intervals, voodoo-style.

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