How to get to Paris by car (Rousse)

I dyed my hair dark grey for KM’s parents’ golden wedding anniversary party. From a distance it looked like my head was armoured in a heavy steel helmet. Regretting my mistake, I couldn’t decide whether I should wait for this horrendous hairstyle to grow out, or have it all cut back to my natural colour and wear it skinhead-style in the interim.

After the party we set off for Paris. I travelled in the first car, with my father at the wheel. Soon we reached the French immigration booth in Dover. There I remembered that TPR was carrying my documents in one of the other cars, now miles behind us. Other than wait for him, the only way to get over the border would be to wave some random paper at the immigration officer and/or chat him up. We applied both strategies. I impressed everyone (including myself) with the fluency of my French. Our carful of charm did the trick, and soon we were on our way again.

I’d never crossed the channel by car before. Now I understood why everyone had warned us that it would be very dangerous. Most frightening were the tankers that seemed to disregard the shipping lanes. One accidental nudge and we’d all sink to a watery death.

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JK Rowling extends her estate (Rousse)

The best of friends, JK Rowling and I shared a Victorian villa by the seaside. She lived on the top floor, and my flat was below.

One morning I looked out of the window and noticed a series of white-painted wooden stakes placed lengthways between the shore and the sand dunes. In a line, they cordoned off three quarters of our “share” of the beach. When I asked Jo what was going on, she explained that this section of our supposedly jointly-owned beachfront now belonged exclusively to her.

With my sister J’s avant garde floating sticky film canister sculpture casting a shadow over half of the lawn from a height of about six feet, this meant that I now had hardly any access to space for relaxing outdoors.

JK Rowling features on Dreamaticus quite frequently. You’ll also find her here:

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A footballer and a phone (Rousse)

Even though he was brought up and lived in Cardiff, my cousin played soccer as an England international. I was so proud of him in his white kit. How strange it was, however, that TPR admired my cousin’s hairstyle of blond-highlighted poker-straight tresses. I thought he would be more interested in the boy’s athleticism.

Not long after our visit to Wales TPR took a business trip to China. Everything fell apart while he was away. I was really distressed at having accidentally left my brand new boots in a charity shop. They would be sold before I returned to fetch them. Even worse, I’d lost my mobile phone and had no way of contacting my faraway husband.

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Bear attacks party-goer (Rousse)

I counted myself extremely lucky to have secured a place at the Christmas party with my London colleagues. The animated mix of nationalities and races at our table ate, drank, talked and partied until 05:45.

We only took one break. That was to kiss one another at 02:00. Admittedly this felt strange, but I was told that a drunken rendition of Auld Lang Syne, combined with sentimental snogging at midnight, is considered rather passé in the second decade of the twenty-first century.

I was enjoying myself so much that I’d forgotten the plan to meet my friends for a Sunday 10 o’clock run. This would now be a huge struggle on only four hours of sleep. Even so, perhaps it was time for me to go home? On my way out I collected the left-over peppers on discarded plates to recycle as Christmas decorations. The silver ones would look particularly festive, so long as they didn’t rot too quickly.

Outside it was already light. I crossed the damp grass, making sure to avoid the two bears grazing in the field. SW, who left at the same time as me, ignored all instructions to follow. Instead she approached the brown bear and reached out an arm to pet it. My amazing night of partying was not going to end happily.

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Good turns in Paris and Edinburgh (Rousse)

When I came across FD looking lost at the top of Boulevard Raspail she admitted that she had never visited Paris before. I offered to show her the sights. We headed north towards to the river, the Louvre our first port of call.

Back in Edinburgh I worked with DE to make sense of her multiple Twitter accounts. It didn’t help that she was distracted by her own attempts to persuade a grey-haired lady to take up driving.

Later at the office I was sous chef to E, liquidising soup. Her speciality was tomato, and mine carrot.

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Police reopen case into dolly bird disappearance (Rousse)

I dressed in the black school uniform of my little brother and sister and accompanied them to class. None of the teachers spotted that I was an over-age imposter. When one of them confiscated my silver necklace at the school gate I feared that my cover would be blown. All attention, however, was focused on how I had transgressed the school rules. The fact that I was well into my 40s was of no interest to the teacher as she logged the details of the jewellery in her little book.

The purpose of the secret school mission was to discover what had become of our elder sister. She had mysteriously disappeared in the mid-1960s. Until recently I hadn’t even known of her existence. New evidence had encouraged the police to reveal all about her short and exciting life to me and my younger siblings.

At the height of her fame in the 1960s our sister was hanging out with all the top celebrities in swinging London. Now was the time to re-open the case into her sudden disappearance. The police fed a rumour to the criminal underworld that would lead the key players to me. Once apprehended in my company, the police would arrest and charge the prime suspects.

The plan worked brilliantly. Within minutes of passing through the school gates a (supposed) work man grabbed me in the school canteen, introduced himself as Frick, and told me how much he loved my sister. Just beyond him I could see another three men. It looked like they were also about to come forward. Then a journalist appeared. I hadn’t signed up for tabloid interrogation so I made a run for it.

Back in the sanctuary of my everyday world, and far removed from police plots, I was once again obsessed with office moves. The big question was whether or not I should take ownership of the vacant corner position with its large windows and fabulous views? I would make up my mind for certain after GW returned to Finland.

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Malcolm Bradbury and Diane Abbott predict the next bestseller (Rousse)

The big clue as to the location of the conference was the island visible across the stretch of water to the west. If that was the Isle of Man, then this was rural Cumbria. However, it was impossible to work out the conference theme from the mix of delegates. There was nothing obvious that Diane Abbott MP or Professor Sir Malcolm Bradbury had in common with my school friends NG and FF, commune favourite NY, or so-called knowledge management guru DS.

Still, I learnt a few interesting things from participating at this event: (1) all our oven gloves need a good wash; (2) you’ll be crushed to death if you attempt to travel on a paternoster lift designed for cargo; (3) when it snows indoors you should always avoid using the slippery stairs.

The best news, however, came in Professor Bradbury’s declaration that Dreamaticus pulls together all the right ingredients for a best-selling novel. Diane Abbott agreed enthusiastically. If only Sir Malcolm could return from the dead to pass on this news to a major publisher…

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Prime-time reality TV botanic bonus (Rousse)

I was the star of a prime-time reality TV show. Cut off from the rest of the world as the team leader of six adventurers, I was only allowed one short walkie-talkie call with my family over the course of the whole series. I couldn’t wait to tell my parents how we had nailed the recent task. In the short walk along the lane we had managed to collect, identify, organise, mount, label and frame 30 different leaf specimens. With that performance we would surely win the series!

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Alice in Wonderland attraction (Rousse)

The rules of the race stipulated that you would be disqualified if you placed a foot on concrete at any point during your run. I decided to make the wood my starting point and see what would happen.

Inevitably I couldn’t keep to the rules and soon I found myself joining AC, KL and RA for a standard trot along London Road. A short rest along the route turned into a whole afternoon of dressing up. Everyone was impressed with how I could enlarge and shrink my body just like Alice in Wonderland. This special talent proved extremely useful because it allowed me to try on all the clothes available.

The fun came to an abrupt halt when TPR summoned me by phone. He ordered me home immediately to cook his supper.

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A rotten job in Tibet (Belle)

I had gone to live with the ‘famous ice-makers and ice-breakers of Tibet’. It was now ice-breaking season and family groups, including tiny toddlers, were breaking the ice with pickaxes. However, as an outsider, I was required to serve an apprenticeship on the fish gutting production line where I inexpertly cut fish tails. I was paid in pig’s offal.

Fortunately, I got a new job operating a lift to the top floor of a tower block. When I got to the top, my friends C and M were living in what looked like a sixth form common room. Desperate to sit down, I made my way to the sofa only to be told to stay away. The sofa was delicately balanced on a pebble and no-one other than M was allowed to sit there.

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