A labrador, a poodle and a Yorkshire terrier (Rousse)

The meeting took place at the dining room table of my grandmother’s house in Corbridge. Given that the location was so special to me, I thought that my colleagues could have been more patient when I interrupted the proceedings with childhood reminiscences. What I had to say was more more interesting than the slow instructions relayed in monotone by the woman from HR. When they started to roll their eyes at my anecdotes I turned my attention to the dogs. They weren’t quite Cobber and Pomfret, but they were reasonable stand-ins for Granny’s labrador and poodle.

Later on, back in Bruntsfield, with my boss I peered through the window of the sports shop. “Do you think it’s any good?” she asked me. My answer was based on the academic qualifications of the staff and the customer base. “I think you’d be better off in a shop closer to the university” I replied – though not to her, but to the tiny black-faced Yorkshire terrier that had taken her place.

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Famous beards and underwear (Rousse)

DB and I were cataloguing journal issues, then filing them in slim cardboard boxes, in the reading room of a large academic library. I also took this opportunity to consider the common data elements in MARC records and APA referencing. We were observed by some of the biggest bearded names in library and information science, including PB who had regrown facial hair especially for this event. (How my sister J qualified to take part was a mystery to us all.)

When the short girl in the green taffeta dress flashed past we knew that it was time for our next meeting. Despite hurrying I was twenty minutes late. I just couldn’t decide which knickers to wear.

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Brad Pitt’s pants (Belle)

My new boyfriend (Brad Pitt) had only one starry affectation. His name had been embroidered in pink silk onto every item of clothing – including his underpants. Just wait till I showed those to the girls!

For more on Brad Pitt, please see:

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Rousse fails the cheese grater test

I helped DJ cook an enormous lasagne for him to eat after his marathon the next day. My main role was to chop the tomatoes. When DJ complained that someone had tidied away the wee metal hand-mill without washing it first, I was forced to confess. I was the one who had returned the utensil to the drawer with parmesan cheese still stuck in the workings.

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Bananagrams, sharks and sons drama (Rousse)

We were playing Bananagrams with S & N when I pointed out the sharks swimming up the river. Nobody paid any attention to me.

Similarly I was ignored when I told my mother-in-law that if her youngest daughter really did go ahead and give birth to five sons, she would never cope.

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Matt Cardle asks for help (Belle)

My new market stall was decorated with medieval streamers in candy stripe colours. How proud I was of my new venture. Matt Cardle stopped by and asked me to write an introductory email on his behalf to my former best friend A. The strangeness of this request didn’t strike me as I struggled to get the tone right. Only later did I wonder why he hadn’t just telephoned her.

I visited my ex boyfriend and watched him cooking potatoes. As we chatted I discovered he was dating two different top women racing drivers. Why then was he still living in that dump of a flat?

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Another Sunday in academia – with a hedgehog (Rousse)

If you have ever wondered how the typical academic spends a Sunday, the answer is straightforward: either at work, or thinking about work.

This Sunday was no different from most others. TPR was entertaining himself elsewhere when I set off to join my colleagues on campus for a staff development seminar. On arrival I pushed open the door to the tower board room. I checked the layout, and managed to contain myself (just) when I realised that the only space left where I could comfortably sit would be on the knee of X. He didn’t object at all. In fact, he was most enthusiastic (unlike my my boss who shot us a barrage of disapproving glances from the other side of the room). However, I didn’t stay here long. When the title PowerPoint slide indicated that the focus of the presentation was the use of English in assignments, and the first discussion would be the etymology and various meanings of the term “arm”, I quietly sneaked out of the room.

Out on the staircase I bumped into PT, ST and an Australian woman who were also giving staff development a miss, this time in favour of conference organisation. Then I found AD in the library, complaining that a prematurely-promoted professor had just belted him. I was about to investigate this assault further when a librarian approached me for a favour. I glanced at the colourful maths handout that she pushed under my nose. Unfortunately it made no sense to me all: my skills in algebra were lost long ago, some time circa in 1979. I suggested that VJ might help, while noting my great admiration of the handout’s hedgehog illustration.

Heading home again, on the way out of the building I vowed to do something about the main staircase. Granted it was very beautiful as a piece of 21st century modern art, but it was also dangerous with multiple unexpected gaps in the steps. Moreover, this was a university, not an exhibition space for funky art installations, and it was about time someone said so.

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Pre-school reading opportunities boost life prospects: a three year old’s perspective (Rousse)

If ever there was a need for evidence of the catastrophic effect of public library cuts, it was here. The place was marshalled by rough-looking women in navy blue overalls, without a qualified librarian in sight. They were more interested in the antics of a bare-bottomed toddler than in delivering quality information services to the general public. The only hope for the future of this essential community service was a three year-old who stalked the shelves. He declared loudly at regular intervals: “Exposure to reading in the pre-school years sets a child up for life”.

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Rousse’s surprise school reunion

This was meant to be a family reunion organised by me. Everyone on the guest list was related either to me or TPR, and I had control of the whole event – or so I thought.

When I apprehended my school friends PM and LF checking their winter coats into the cloakroom, I feigned delight and kissed them both, even though they weren’t officially invited to the party. Then, when P introduced me to Alex, her shy sixth former niece, I quickly conjured up a reason for her to stay too: with 11 A* in her recent GCSEs, she could pass on hints and tips to my niece AF.

However, when my sister J and sisters-in-law SM and JR turned up in grey mini-skirts, white shirts and loose ties in a tacky version of school uniform, I was devastated. I really had lost control of the proceedings, upstaged by those closest to me. With tears streaming down my face I was desperate for comfort in the arms of TPR. However, he too had abandoned me and was nowhere to be found.

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New houseshare puts Belle in a spin

Exactly how many house-mates did I now have? As I sat in the kitchen, drinking early morning tea, more people poured in through the doors. Already disorientated, I realised that the scene through the kitchen window was changing. The house was slowly rotating.

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