Nun murder: rally driver Rousse carries clues in her car

Posted on September 19, 2011 by Dreamaticus

I drove the red hire car like a maniac rally driver, screeching round corners and off-roading where necessary. This was not deliberate, but due to a lack of familiarity with the car’s controls. Shod in wellies, I also kept missing the brake in favour of the accelerator. This is how I ended up tearing a course through the policeman’s front garden.

Two miles down the coast I thought I’d got away with it. I parked the car on a forestry track opposite a bay where dolphins played. I was just about to put my MacBook away and pop my camera into my anorak pocket when two walkers approached the car. I could tell instantly that they were policewomen in disguise. Without asking, they opened the boot. It was obvious that they were hunting for the body. However, all they found there was a box of left-over conference materials. So long as they didn’t clock the convent’s address on the branded folders, there was no way to connect me to the murdered nun.

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Charles Dickens meets Strictly Come Dancing and the X Factor (Belle)

Posted on September 17, 2011 by Dreamaticus

The plot of this generic Dickens work had been dreadfully bowdlerised and it was no surprise to me that it had been snuck into the BBC2 schedules with no fanfare.

Part Mr Fezziwig’s ball, part Strictly Come Dancing and part X Factor I couldn’t imagine anyone being persuaded that this teenager, aged using talcum powder in his hair, should be playing the lawyer in this courtroom scene. Combined with the shameful choreography (climbing up a ladder on the stage to represent a life going nowhere) the whole programme was stinking out my living room. Fortunately, the flavour of my chilled cranberry juice was making life worth living.

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Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall – taxi driver (Rousse)

Posted on September 15, 2011 by Dreamaticus

How do you reach Glasgow – three hours away by road – for a focus group at 8pm, when it’s already 7pm? The answer: hire the world’s fastest taxi driver, Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall! We all squeezed into the Range Rover and within seconds we were off. Camilla’s faith in the safety features of the 4×4 was beyond belief. So confident was she that when turning right she did not check to the left for on-coming traffic – ever. Camilla the demon driver took some getting used to.

An earlier performance was almost as exciting. I was so impressed with SB’s speech in front of a conference audience of thousands that as a reward I threw her my precious pink corduroy hat.

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Belle collects her inheritance

Posted on September 13, 2011 by Dreamaticus

The letter informed me that my legacy was awaiting collection on the train platform. I saw other friends of the deceased rummaging in a wicker basket as my steam train drew into the station. They informed me that I could either have the red beret or the red pill-box hat.

I chose the beret.

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Macdonald clan secrets (Rousse)

Posted on September 13, 2011 by Dreamaticus

The Right Honourable Godfrey James Macdonald of Macdonald, 8th Lord Macdonald, Chief of the Name and Arms of Macdonald, High Chief of Clan Donald and 34th hereditary Chief of Clan Donald popped out to post a letter. Just ahead of me in the Post Office queue, he clearly believed that dying his hair chestnut brown was sufficient to allow him to go out in public incognito. I immediately saw through his disguise and struck up a conversation about family holidays to Kinloch Lodge in the late 1970s and early 1980s. His lordship gave a friendly response, but I suspected that he was lying when he said he remembered me. This was confirmed when he asked after my stockbroker father who lost his city job in the 1987 crash. Lord Macdonald did, however, remember the recent visit of JM and his companion to the hotel on the Isle of Skye.

Meanwhile my father stood in the background with his pink kid leather notebook recording all the details of our conversation, busy annotating the genealogical data that he had already gathered about the Macdonald clan. Most surprising was that Lady Claire Macdonald was not from Lancashire as previously reported, but a native of California.

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Time-travelling aunt fulfils her duties as a godparent (Rousse)

Posted on September 12, 2011 by Dreamaticus

The children’s names were listed in sibling groups on a whiteboard. The mothers referred to the list as they discussed godparents and presents. Although he was male and based in the Republic of Ireland (where this scheme did not operate), JG was there hoping to argue the case for his children. I didn’t rate his chances, especially since he’d produced four off-spring and the women here all seemed to have opted for the standard two.

At the conclusion of the meeting I was introduced to my nephew PF as a vile four year-old. While he lay on the floor swearing I tried to assure him that I knew everything would be fine so long as he worked hard at school. Then my sister J passed my niece AF over to me for the day. In her eight year-old form AF wore her hair dyed blue-black in skull-tight dreadlocks. She looked truly dreadful. I worried over what other passengers would think of us as we travelled the Cumbrian section of the west coast rail line.

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Going without: underwear or shoes? (Rousse)

Posted on September 11, 2011 by Dreamaticus

It would be extremely rude to present a research seminar barefoot, especially in the company of DW who was always so well turned-out. So we spent hours hunting for a neat pair of black loafers (or similar) at the top of a corn field and in the village of Marcillat (France), relocated to Aberdeenshire (Scotland). The closest we came was a pair of size 3 leather StartRites, but these were far too small.

Time was marching on so we were forced to give up our shoe quest and travel by rail to Aberdeen for the seminar. A station staff mix-up rooted in the belief that DW and I were 18 year-olds awaiting A level results meant that we were directed onto the wrong train. The only way to stop it was to pull the emergency cord. Neither of us had the guts to do this, but a middle-aged woman recognised our distress and took action. It was all pretty pointless really because by now we’d never make it to the venue in time, even if we abandoned the train and caught a flight instead.

The irony, of course, was that we obsessed so much over shoes that we happily ignored the rest of my outfit. Under my short black silk cocktail dress I wore nothing at all (unless you counted the 2005 Edinburgh Fringe ticket that I found in the pocket). Surely there would be important minimum dress requirements for presenting a research seminar, and one of these would be the wearing of underwear?

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Red heads and the Data Protection Act (Rousse)

Posted on September 10, 2011 by Dreamaticus

JM was full of bright ideas for the conference, but the these last two did not count. Given her expertise in records management JM should have known every detail of the Data Protection Act 1998. This included the provision related to the reuse of personal data previously collected for a different purpose. Her second suggestion was simply ridiculous. How would we round up eight excellent speakers if the most essential criterion was that they should all sport ginger hair?

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Oswald Danes plies an evil trade in Edinburgh (Rousse)

Posted on September 10, 2011 by Dreamaticus

Notorious paedophile, rapist and murderer Oswald Danes parked his specially adapted 4×4 on Infirmary Street in Edinburgh, then laid in wait for victims. The four of us were the first to encounter him. As we walked up to the junction with South Bridge we spotted the vehicle. Its boot was open to reveal a huge black leather sofa that faced outwards. Then we heard Dane’s creepy call: “Who’d like to come for a nice ride in my car?” TPR and I took this as a signal to run away as fast as we could. We charged at top speed across the road towards Chambers Street, slipping and sliding a little because there was still snow on the ground. Our friends weren’t so quick off the mark. Thankfully they did eventually manage to escape, but only after a bloody fist-fight in the middle of the street.

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Bupa Great Edinburgh Run 2011 organisers surprise athletes with goody bag contents (Rousse)

Posted on September 9, 2011 by Dreamaticus

I was under the impression that I had just completed the full 10k of the 2011 Bupa Great Edinburgh Run. However, when I joined the others in the vast gymnasium where we had agreed to unpack our goody bags together after the race, I had my doubts. The first hint that I may not have lasted the course was that I was the only one who had not been handed a goody bag. Added to this, while everyone else complained bitterly about the biting wind along the top of the reservoir, I had no recollection of this at all (although I remembered very clearly the bombers over Hartlepool). I would be so ashamed if the contents of my blue kit bag revealed that I had not completed the race. More importantly, I coveted the pink Tiny Tears sized pushchairs that everyone else had found at the bottom of their goody bags. How could I convince a race steward of my 10k credentials and persuade him to hand one over to me?

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