Fleeing to Finland (Rousse)

Everyone was determined to move more than 1000 miles from the UK to a better life in Scandinavia. Such was the obsession of my colleague from the British Library that she had applied to register as a researcher at the Academy of Finland. As for me, my plan was simply to emigrate to Turku. This choice was based on two main factors: Turku is a town not far from sites of archaeological interest, and runs a tram system that actually operates.

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Cat fashion up a tower block (Rousse)

The small black furry corpse spilled out of my green leather handbag onto the floor of E’s office high up the new tower block. To my shame I had completely forgotten that the poor creature had been in there. I could not recall when I’d tidied the living cat away into my handbag, nor when I last gave it anything to eat or drink. As a cover I came up with some story that a tumour had killed kitty. However I knew the truth: the death was entirely due to my neglect.

In compete contrast E’s own cat was a picture of health. Although a hairless breed, E had somehow coaxed the creature to grow a fluffy white coat. To add a bit of colour its body was now decorated at regular intervals with a few long strands of purple wool-like hair. With her own hair dyed in an identical hue, E and her cat were the epitome of the “pet-owner” fashion ensemble.

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Cruising with the poets (Belle)

So far, the cruise had visited New York (during shore leave a friend helped me filch a nerdy Open University sound effects LP from New York Public Library) and now we were in India. Rather disappointingly, the view was a car park in Shoreditch although black pythons and crocodiles were roaming over the cracked concrete. Meanwhile, three poets were introducing each other’s work in a rather cringeworthy lovey-fest. Only Simon Armitage was coming out of this event well.

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New York (in)conveniences (Belle)

I was disheartened to find that the New York Cathedral was little more than a flea market, selling tacky religious icons and badly designed and poorly executed ‘stained glass paperweights’. To make matters worse, I discovered ‘toilet sharing’ was the church’s response to tough economic times.

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Poaching students in pyjamas (Rousse)

Croissant with coffee by Brendan MacNeill

Croissant with coffee by Brendan MacNeill

“Baking croissants in class does not represent advanced study at Honours level” was my justification for transferring the two students from the rival institution into my own. It also has to be said that they begged me to take them on. Their arrival actually gave me something to do. This made a welcome change from my lazy routine of lounging in the office, dressed in my purple fleece jim-jams, listening in on my room-mate’s conversations in Chinese.

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Graeme Garden’s elasticated stockings and a railway car chase (Rousse)

Graeme Garden sat opposite me in the waiting area at BBC Radio 4 reception. He was my host for the day. On the basis of my impressive track record of developing panel games, I’d been summoned to help create three new shows for the station. For the time being I just wished that Graeme could find a comfortable sitting position that would hide his display of elasticated stockings. I could see them reach all the way up to the hem of his mini-skirt. Then I remembered that beneath my apparently respectable attire I was wearing no underwear at all…

Afterwards TPR and I struggled to get home again by train. Waiting (naked) for hours on the station platform I got so desperately cold that I was forced to “borrow” a lavender cashmere coat from a public coat rack. Still the train didn’t come, and now we were bound to miss our connection at Birmingham New Street. When a series of cars and a lorry came hurtling down the track pursued by a police convoy we understood the reason for the delay. Criminals had taken to the British rail network as their daring getaway route. As a consequence all train services were now cancelled indefinitely.

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My school friend KM was making a fresh start in life. When she told a stranger that she had no desire ever to have children, I was both curious and shocked. What about her daughter? It appeared that KM had tired of motherhood and given up her only child for adoption.

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Arson at the abbey, two weddings, a ‘death’ and a strange theft (Belle)

In a dream within a dream I travelled to Wales to attend a wedding at an ancient abbey. On arrival I was astonished to learn that the bride and groom had planned to cover the cost of the wedding by carrying out an arson attack the night before. All had not gone to plan, however, and the abbey was in ruins and the bride was feared dead.

Gradually I realised that I was asleep and someone was making a lot of noise outside my front door. I woke up and opened the door to discover that:
1. someone had stolen the number off my front door and taken the doorstep
2. I had received an invitation to the wedding I had just dreamt about explaining that the death had been faked so the bride could participate in an undercover investigation.

It must have been a pretty poor investigation if she was revealing the truth so soon, I thought. Despite my resentment I attended the second ceremony, this time in Nunhead Cemetery. As part of the entertainment, the guests were being shown how to mend industrial air conditioning pipework by young men standing on ladders. I bumped into the man I secretly admired and realised I liked him so much I could forgive his dreadful orange shirt.

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Nun murder: rally driver Rousse carries clues in her car

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)

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)

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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