Admiration for the ultimate Huf Haus garden accessory: a neolithic stone circle (Rousse)

Posted on March 3, 2012 by Dreamaticus

I looked through the vast downstairs window of my friends’ Huf Haus and out across the Borders countryside. Strange in itself was a purple-blue sunset, but of far more interest to me was the neolithic stone circle in the foreground. How could I have missed such an amazing set of garden furniture on my previous visits? No wonder the house was so expensive and P & S were obliged to take in bed and breakfast guests to cover their mortgage repayments.

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The battle of the laundry basket (Rousse)

Posted on March 2, 2012 by Dreamaticus

Before TPR had pegged even a single item on the line in the garden of our holiday cottage a local woman appeared at his side, super-keen to take charge of the laundry basket. “Let me do that” she said. TPR responded that he was perfectly happy to hang out the washing himself. However she insisted loudly that this should be her job.

As I watched the scene unfold from the back door I gradually worked out what was going on. Taking care of the tourists’ laundry was probably one of the few ways that locals could earn money on this impoverished island. I called over to TPR in French to hand over the basket. It might cost us £10, but this woman’s family needed the cash more than we did.

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Babysitting tips: who to avoid (Rousse)

Posted on March 2, 2012 by Dreamaticus

E and R worked out quite quickly that we’d be pushovers when it came to babysitting. They insisted that they were responsible enough to be allowed to catch the bus to Darlington on their own. We were pretty sure that they were too young but (because we were so sick of the pestering) we eventually gave in. The children never returned.

So now we faced a terrible dilemma. How could we explain to K and S that we had lost their daughters in another county during a thunderstorm?

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Wedding day blues: you just can’t get the staff (Rousse)

Posted on March 1, 2012 by Dreamaticus

My wedding day was fast approaching. All that I needed to do now was transfer my hair straighteners and make-up to the hotel bedroom and then I’d be all set for the ceremony.

The hotel bedroom was palatial. It was about three times the size of a classroom and furnished with beautiful antiques. The only problem was that it could really do with a hoover. I called in the contract cleaner, but he was hopeless. Shirley (yes, that was his name) just added to the mess by leaving a trail of Christmas tree needles across the carpet. When I asked if he could use a dustpan and brush to clear up the mess, he stated that this would be beneath his dignity.

A cleaner who refused to clean? This was ridiculous! I called a supervisor to complain. She regretted that she could not push Shirley because he was “fragile”. The job couldn’t be passed on to the 17:00-19:00 shift either. This was because everyone on that team was an alcoholic. I would just have to accept that the state of room would never reach my exacting standards.

Then something else in the room attracted my attention. Some of the the white ceiling tiles were hanging down. I wondered if I could find a handyman to take a look, or was this just something else that I’d be forced to tolerate?

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1980s innovations in publishing: the musical academic journal (Rousse)

Posted on March 1, 2012 by Dreamaticus

GMcM and I were browsing through old copies of the Journal of Information Science. Back in 1989 the fonts were enormous. What surprised us most of all, however, was that each issue was musical, just like a novelty greeting card.

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The best car mechanic in town (Rousse)

Posted on March 1, 2012 by Dreamaticus

The best car mechanic in town is called Mr Reasonable. Every job costs just £50. The only drawback to engaging his services is that Mr Reasonable suffers from telephonophobia. This makes it rather difficult to book an appointment for your vehicle.

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Mrs Moon takes new premises (Belle)

Posted on February 29, 2012 by Dreamaticus

Squealing excitedly, I dragged my sister towards the early Victorian end of terrace shop front.

“Look. How wonderful. Mrs Moon’s new shop”.

Pressing my nose to the window, I could see honeyed wooden floors, 1970s rainbow-coloured ‘ribbon curtains’ and an old oak school desk. I was sick with jealousy. This was exactly the type of shop I would have chosen.

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Hostage taken at the White House: Rousse to the rescue

Posted on February 29, 2012 by Dreamaticus

I could hear my iPhone ringing out, but where was I, and what time of night was this?

I pulled myself up in bed to peer into the dark. I was back at the White House in my childhood bedroom. The phone was calling out from my study next door. I jumped out from under the duvet to answer it.

Gulping back loud sobs, the caller informed me it was 04:00am, and that she had been banging on all the house doors for about 2 hours in an attempt to attract our attention.

I didn’t trust this person at all. She wouldn’t tell me why she was so distressed, but she clearly wanted me to feel sorry for her. What she didn’t know was that from the bedroom window I could make out her figure, with a bike, under the lavender tree at the main gate. Was this a trap?

As dawn broke a fuller picture began to emerge. I could now see that my caller was holding a prisoner! I sprang into action to rescue the hostage. It was my friend LM.

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A frustrating author mix-up (Belle)

Posted on February 27, 2012 by Dreamaticus

It didn’t seem to matter how many times I repeated myself, no-one believed me. “Kingsley Amis did NOT write Hard Times”.

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Planning a party and pilfering pains au chocolat (Rousse)

Posted on February 27, 2012 by Dreamaticus

The venue asked us to make some decisions for our afternoon of celebration: would we prefer the chairs to be set out theatre or cabaret style, and when would we like tea and cake to be served – before or after the performance? I looked up to the stage and had a question of my own. Would it be possible to use that old domestic stereo to play our records for the disco after the Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre show? I also hoped that we had enough vinyl and volunteers to change the song every 3-4 minutes.

Next I turned my attention to duties on campus. First I confirmed arrangements to attend janitor Jimmy’s funeral. Then I popped along to the end of a reception, hoping that nobody would notice that I had not attended the lecture beforehand. I gave the impression that I was interested in the academic chit-chat, but my real mission was to fill two enormous shopping bags to the brim with left-over pains au chocolat to take home and stuff into my freezer.

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