Time-travelling Rousse misses several photo opportunities and breaks a promise

I was in desperate need of a decent picture for my photo journal. I simply couldn’t find anything nearby that was interesting enough to snap. Then I struck upon an idea. If I travelled back in time just a couple of weeks, I could capture the excitement of Christmas.

My first stop was the Isle of Skye in early December 2011. I boasted to a stranger that I’d come from the future. When he said that he didn’t believe me, I boldly replied “You will when you hear the news on 13th January 2012 that a huge cruise liner has run aground on rocks off the Isola del Giglio in Italy”. He couldn’t care a fig. If I were him, I would have rushed immediately to the bookies. I wrote off the conversation completely when he then confessed that he had never noticed the message grown into the mountainside across the valley. The vegetation spelt out “Hush! Silence as you commute to work please”. You really couldn’t miss it – unless you were the least perceptive man on Skye, of course.

Next I set off for Portree to see what I would find to photograph there. I was surprised to discover that the capital of Skye was large enough to have its very own China Town. Then I worked out that I had now somehow travelled forward in time because here they were all celebrating Chinese New Year. I was just about to settle down for a meal in a Chinese restaurant run by a bald English man when a family of four came through the door with a complaint. The little girl had found tooth-sized lump of wood in her takeaway. The owner was highly embarrassed and asked me to promise never to admit that I had witnessed this incident.

I left the restaurant and continued my quest. What would I photograph now that I had several options? There were trains, a ship against a beautiful sunset, and a field full of sheep. Just as I trained my lens on the flock a dog jumped up at me and stole my shoe. Then my friend SL ran up to me in a complete panic with something urgent to tell me. As the sun went down and all natural light with it, I sacrificed my last opportunity to get a picture to listen to SL’s dark secret. It really could have waited. All she wanted to say was that X’s voice really irritated her.

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Miss Piggy’s magic stilletoes (Belle)

Miss Piggy’s sparkly shoes looked so small resting in the palm of my hand. Yet when I tried them on, they fitted me. Had my feet shrunk? Taking off the shoes, I could see my feet were still a size 6. The only possible explanation was that the shoes were magic.

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Shetland’s craziest coach driver (Rousse)

We had both settled into our seats on the train on the way to the airport when I asked TPR what he had done with the suitcase. Although we’d both remembered our rucksacks as hand luggage, he’d forgotten to pick up the larger bag from the hotel reception. It appeared that the best course of action would be for him to go back and retrieve our bag. I would continue to the airport on my own. There was a still chance that we’d both make it to the flight in time.

I transferred from the train to a coach for the last leg of the journey. As we headed north across Shetland towards the airport I pointed out of the window at the mountain peaks. I boasted to the other passengers of how TPR and I had tackled them by tandem on our last visit. I also attempted a conversation with the coach driver. I had spotted the pile of brand new children’s toys on a spare seat and asked who they were for. He growled back at me not to touch them. They were part of a collection for Rachel, a child who had recently died. I was desperate to ask what use new toys were to a dead child, but kept my mouth shut. It was clear that the driver did not want to speak to me.

In an effort to make the journey more interesting, however, a little later the driver announced that he was taking a diversion through a theme park. He then terrified us all by driving into the path of a set of dodgem cars that came careering down the hillside. We were given a few minutes in a souvenir shop afterwards to recover from the near-death experience.

When we finally returned to the coach for last few miles of the journey I checked my watch. It was 13:00. Our flight was at 13:15 and there was no hope of my making it to the gate in time. I should have gone back to the hotel to fetch the suitcase with TPR. This course of action may also have risked missing the flight, but at least I’d still have the company of my husband – a much more attractive option than serving a sentence as passenger of Shetland’s craziest coach driver.

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A grandmother, assorted colleagues, South American doctoral studies, and an ex-boyfriend (Rousse)

The venue for KB’s last meeting before she finally retired was the sitting room of my grandmother’s house in Hexham. My last visit to the house was in 1992, but little had changed in 20 years. I tested the comfort of the knobbly green sofa, padded across the dark green swirly hall carpet, opened and closed the glass porch door, and peered into each of the other rooms. The only differences were in the size of the hall and the spare bedroom, and the addition of a further bedroom where the garage had once been.

Back in the sitting room once more, I was just coming to terms with the enormity of the challenge of stepping into KB’s shoes when a small South American academic reminded me that I had agreed to co-supervise Carlos, one of his PhD students. This was yet another commitment that I had forgotten about and probably wouldn’t be able to honour.

Someone noticed my evident distress and threw his arms round me in comfort. I thought this was rather unprofessional: colleagues did not normally behave in this way. Then I discovered that this “someone” was a gatecrasher. My ex-boyfriend ST had wangled an invitation to the meeting. He had rightly concluded that the easiest way to grab any time with me was to track me down at work.

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More basking sharks (Rousse)

The basking sharks were so close to the shore that I could stroke them. How amazing!

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Toothbrushes and telephone tutorials (Rousse)

KA won the argument and she, SM and the children would stay the night in Edinburgh rather than face the long drive back to Hexham. As KA got E and R ready for bed, I rummaged around in the green bathroom for four new toothbrushes. The only ones that I could find were all yellow so I hoped that each member of the family would be able to remember which one belonged to whom. (I also discovered two tiny baby electronic toothbrush attachments in the cupboard. This was very puzzling. I had no idea that such implements existed, and I couldn’t understand how they had come into our possession. Perhaps this discovery was also linked to the strange new arrangement of bathroom fittings in the room? The last time I looked I was pretty sure that the bath was not positioned against the window.)

With the children now tucked up in bed in the spare room, I made a move to put the futon up for KA and SM in the study. Then my work mobile rang in the kitchen. This was most unusual given that it was the weekend.

When I eventually worked out that the call was about an honours project I was furious. I couldn’t believe that a student would have the cheek to ring me on a Saturday night. She seemed to think that because she “knew” my work friend KT (and I must say that I doubted that she was telling the truth) she was entitled to special favours. She wasn’t.

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Bose headphones rescued in Montreal (Rousse)

All eyes turned on me as I followed my Canadian cousin TT up to the back of the lecture hall. They must have all been wondering what he was doing in class with an old fogey like me. He was, in fact, hosting my visit to Montreal and today’s “treat” was to attend lectures with him.

I was completely unused to being on this side of the podium, and TT was clearly not the studious type, so before long we abandoned our plan for the day. Outside once again we walked along the street with one of TT’s friends.

Suddenly a tramp appeared out of nowhere and attacked me. He was after the Bose headphones in my rucksack. What he hadn’t counted on was the strength of my extremely tall and muscular bodyguard. TT easily pinned my attacker to the ground and all was saved.

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An alternative use for Stilton cheese (Rousse)

Obedient as ever, I packed some blue-veined cheese to take on holiday. This was at the request of the young hotel proprietor. I assumed that local supplies of Stilton had run out and that my purchase would revive the cheeseboard at dinner. I was half right: all the shops had sold out of cheese, but my contribution was required for a completely different purpose.

As part of a diversification strategy the hotel offered funeral parlour services. However, nobody really believed that corpses were kept on site. If lumps of cheese were left lying around to rot, the smell might persuade people that this was an authentic business proposition.

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An intruder, a storm, and the terrible after-effects of tree resin rain (Rousse)

There’d been a number of break-ins at our flat over recent weeks, none of which had triggered our burglar alarm. We were sure, however, that it was just matter of time before we would walk in on the culprit(s). When TPR hushed me in the hall and told me to stand guard at the sitting room door, I knew that the time had come to uncover the identity of our intruder.

TPR took the route through kitchen to the sitting room. There he found our intruder sitting comfortably on our big green sofa, gently strumming on an acoustic guitar. The big surprise was that this person who had trespassed into our flat was not a stranger. We knew O from a few years earlier when he had trained at the same gym as us. O was well-known for his alternative lifestyle, but we had no idea that he made a habit of making himself comfortable in his friends’ houses when everyone else was out at work.

TPR demanded that O leave immediately. As I shut front door behind him, I knew that our friendship was over forever.

Mystery solved, it was time to put the kettle on. As part of the celebration I unwrapped two triangular boxes of chocolates left over from Christmas. TPR took the larger box (coffee-flavoured) and I settled down to work my way through the smaller one (Russian caramel). Then our friend Laura called by so we invited her to join us a for a cup of tea in the sitting room.

I was just about to interrupt a conversation about headlice (with a question about the stray chocolates and peanuts that I had found hidden under the small sofa cushions), when we heard a noise outside the window. O had returned to the flat bearing a huge bouquet of flowers. We had made it clear to him earlier that he was no longer welcome so we ignored him when he rang the bell. If he left the flowers behind, we would pick them up from the front door later. He eventually got the message and left.

Later that afternoon the weather changed and it became very windy. When I opened the back door to see if there was any damage to the trees I was swept up into sky. At first it was a wonderful to fly through the air and look down on everyone’s gardens, but then I realised I had no idea how to return to the ground. TPR tried to rescue me, but he ended up in the same position. It was only when the wind dropped that we were able to return to our own garden.

Here we sat on the grass with some of our neighbours, including AS, JS and their children, and ET-S. It was such a relief that the wind had dropped, but now we faced another danger. It was raining tree resin! We rushed indoors before it did us any harm. Unfortunately it was too late for some. My mother-in-law ingested so much resin that we had to drag her stiff, paralysed body back into the house. The resin’s effect on TPR was to transform him into a young black woman with memory loss.

Soon afterwards a policeman came to the door. He announced that everyone knew that I was the one responsible for all the strange happenings of the day and immediately arrested me. I would surely pay for this with a long stretch in prison.

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Rousse’s accidental art and antiquarian book investments

Now that we’d had the charcoal drawing framed it was time to get it valued. We also wondered if the two shabby books that the artist had given us were worth anything.

While we waited our turn to be served at the auction house I examined the fine art that adorned the walls. Our own acquisition was very modern in comparison to these antiques in oil by long-dead masters. Our picture was a recent present from the artist himself. Though elderly, he was still very much alive and active on the art scene. The longer we waited in the show room, the more time I had to convince myself that this trip was a complete waste of time.

I was wrong. The small, dumpy woman who assessed the canvas declared it to be worth at least £75 per square inch. The books excited her even more. They were extremely rare and valuable. Did we have access to the rest of the collection? If so, this would be a great investment for the future.

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