Evidence of global warming in Antigua (Rousse)

Posted on April 22, 2011 by Dreamaticus

I thought that I had signed up for a dream holiday “away from it all” so was somewhat annoyed to find running club friends lounging beside the hotel pool, and see familiar faces from work at the bar. TPR suggested that we escape for a couple of hours with a trip down to the town and a wander around the shops. Even here our time “alone” together was shared with hundreds of other holiday-makers. We watched hoards of them step down from their cruise ships and wade to land, taking care to negotiate the icebergs along the shoreline. If evidence was ever needed for the effects of global warming, here it was in Antigua.

We returned home by train via Loughborough. As we crossed the University campus I gazed enviously at the fabulous sporting facilities. I wished that I could have completed my undergraduate studies here.

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Time travel to family troubles (Belle)

Posted on April 21, 2011 by Dreamaticus

My three Edwardian step-children were laughing at me cruelly. I had been their governess, but now I had married their father and they were making my life a misery.

They were sneering at the dress I had chosen to wear on the paddle-steamer. It was off the peg and the label said ‘Elephant brand’.

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Go-go a go-go (Belle)

Posted on April 21, 2011 by Dreamaticus

I couldn’t quite believe it when I was approached to be the star go-go dancer in a silver-walled nightclub. They hadn’t even see me dance yet, so perhaps it was an elaborate practical joke? Yet soon there was a bidding war for my go-go talent and I was offered a contract to go-go dance in South Africa.

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Radio 4 tested as a barometer of social class (Rousse)

Posted on April 21, 2011 by Dreamaticus

Identifying suitable time-slots to see each of my PhD students was already a problem, and now finding a physical space in which to meet was a further challenge. RI and I settled down to chat in a corner of a room where the rest of the members of the research centre were supposedly working quietly, but AD and PC soon started to take interest in our conversation. Before we knew it, the tutorial had taken on the form of a research seminar.

Then, when the hour changed, the room was invaded by an entire class of undergraduates, followed by Emeritus Professor ED as she passed through on her way to another teaching session. When I rang security to complain that my room booking had been violated the response was “Possession is nine-tenths of the law”. Finally beaten, I decided to make myself useful and help out with the undergraduates. ST told me that today’s theme was social class and that the students were filling out a questionnaire to identify whether or not their family was middle class. “Wouldn’t it be simpler to ask if they listen to Radio 4?” I suggested in reply.

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Men with guns in shopping mall (Rousse)

Posted on April 20, 2011 by Dreamaticus

If ever there was a case not to judge on appearances, my new sister-in-law fitted the bill. Completely bald, and with a preference for going naked in public, at 12 months old she was a baby with a difference. She was toilet-trained from birth, and at an age where her contemporaries struggled with naming everyday objects around them, she carried in her head one of the most extensive vocabularies of anyone I knew. She was fully aware that she was different, and hated being treated like a child. If you tried to pick her up for a cuddle, she would wriggle and squeal like a piglet. As fame for her wisdom grew, every word that my sister-in-law uttered was taken with the utmost seriousness.

On this occasion we had stopped at a shopping mall off the A68 in West Woodburn for a bite to eat. When my sister-in-law mentioned “men with guns” word soon got out – damn you Twitter! Within minutes armed police came racing to the rescue in rural north Northumberland. It was a complete false alarm. “Men with Guns” was the name of the shopping mall’s house band. Panic over, we settled down to enjoy their repertoire of witty songs. They reminded us of Edinburgh Fringe favourites Dead Cat Bounce and Corky and the Juice Pigs.

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Jack Dee gets the giggles with Rousse in the shower

Posted on April 19, 2011 by Dreamaticus

The shower scene with Jack Dee wasn’t meant to be funny. I was able to suppress my smirk, but Jack could do nothing but turn away from the camera. Although reluctant to go through it all again, Jack agreed to a second take.

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A tardis and a fake doctor – amongst other strange things (Rousse)

Posted on April 18, 2011 by Dreamaticus

On the Isle of Lewis:

  • It was lucky that I happened to glance out at the sea from the stairwell window from the fourth floor when I did. The tsunami was heading straight for the sea wall. TPR, RG and I rushed further upstairs and avoided a soaking.
  • It was ED’s first trip to BnC and she was hooked. Such was her enthusiasm that she set up a tardis-type transport system whereby holiday makers could travel from mainland railway stations to the Isle of Lewis by telephone kiosk for £2 a time.

At the hospital:

  • I took the lift to the 28th floor to visit CM.
  • It was a high risk strategy to arrive outside visiting hours, but I had taken the precaution of wearing my sister’s old lab coat and carrying a clipboard, so I looked the part of consultant on her rounds.

The very large cluttered house:

  • Hadn’t been cleaned properly for years.
  • Harboured numerous miniature animals. I found a three inch long wild cat kitten and a sheep the size of a ball of wool. I hoped that there would be space for them in the animal hospital cages.

At the dinner table:

  • PM fought with me over the tanning pen. She wanted to continue treatment until she had turned a nice shade of brown. Unfortunately she was starting to glow orange. I would not allow her to do this to herself.

Back home again:

  • I discovered that the mother and children who used to live upstairs continued to use the house on occasion. This was on the grounds that (a) it was a much nicer property than their new one and (b) it had stood empty for six months.
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Adulterer uncovered in New York (Rousse)

Posted on April 17, 2011 by Dreamaticus

The New York annual Founders’ Day parade was spectacular and I would have happily watched it all day. However, just as the elephants marched past, TPR introduced me to two blonde strangers. The younger of the two was Jenny and, like me, she had no idea that she had been sharing TPR with anyone else. The elder of the pair, however, was fully aware of her status as TPR’s second (and illegal) wife. On questioning TPR admitted that Jenny was only a recent addition to the secret hareem. She was his regular weekend cinema date. Suddenly everything started to make sense: the late returns home on Friday nights, and the long periods that I had recently been forced to spend on my own on holiday.

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Pink Floyd drives Rousse to work at home

Posted on April 16, 2011 by Dreamaticus

As soon as I saw the office set-up I knew that this would never work. ETS and PC led me through the front of HMV to the cordoned-off work area. Four long tables were arranged in board room style, set up with laptops for about a dozen programmers. One by one the colleagues took their places and settled down to work for the day. Then the caterers arrived with the daily lunch delivery and placed each individual sandwich order at the appropriate spot.

PC had promised that I’d soon be online with all the facilities I needed to tackle my e-mail backlog. However, although I was thankful to the technician who booted up a machine for me, I was not prepared to wade through my work from a green screen text-only interface that dated from the 1980s. A Pink Floyd soundtrack piped in from the shop confirmed my decision. I packed my bag and headed home to my Mac and dongle.

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Unhealthy pub grub and a Swedish opera singer (Rousse)

Posted on April 15, 2011 by Dreamaticus

We took a break from cycling and stopped off at a pub for a lunch. Since the bar was unstaffed, TPR poured himself a pint of a lager, and a half for me. Then the waiter brought us a dish of pasta, chips and broccoli. Before we even had a chance to lift a fork to our mouths the waiter removed the broccoli from our plates and dumped it in the bin. When I asked why he had done this, he told me that it was far too healthy for pub food. I was most welcome, however, to fish the vegetables out from the rubbish and eat them, if I really wanted to do so.

Then there was a sudden and urgent need for a Swedish opera singer. “No problem”, thought I, as I rifled through my address book to locate MM, a former colleague from my days at QM. “She’s Swedish, and she’s bound to know an opera singer or two!”

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