A stone age date with Ruaridh Aldridge (Rousse)

I spent the eve of my stone age adventure in Reading. MP and his wife A hosted my visit in their large, modern house. No longer a family home, it was still littered with evidence of the departed children. I coveted the plastic jointed toy snake coiled around the banister at the foot of the stairs.

The next morning I woke bright and early to exchange my white silk pyjamas for an authentic stone age outfit: a coarse grey tunic. Then I met Ruaridh Aldridge, my companion for the day. He was just as excited as I was as we waded, swam and surfed down the river to join the other adventurers at the seashore. My last act on land before we clambered into the coracle for the journey across the sea was to leave a welcome message for those who would meet these shores several centuries later. I dug the words into the muddy bank: “Hello Vikings. Beware the mafia”.

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Belle goes clubbing and meets a resistance heroine

After an excellent night out in a ‘cave rave’ we were forced to take four night buses home, changing at Croydon and Birmingham Broad Street.

The five year old poppet in ribbons was carrying two pink tulips and a carnation wrapped in newspaper. She was actually working for the French resistance with secret documents hidden in the bouquet. I watched, astonished, as even when she accidentally dropped the bouquet, she distracted the officer by asking prettily “Can YOU sing?”. She really was cool under pressure.

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Phone fury (Rousse)

Was I invisible? The chairman of the meeting allowed one man to dominate the discussion, ignoring my raised hand and futile attempts at eye contact. I was desperate to join the debate and to correct the misassumptions. In my frustration I scribbled a note for Professor PR, seated to my right: ‘This is crazy. Has he never heard of data mining?’ When the speaker introduced a set of rogue statistics to back up his spurious claims I reached for my iPhone. It would take no time to recalculate the figures. It was only then that I discovered that a cunning thief had stolen my iPhone and replaced it with an ancient mobile on the Orange network. My Blackberry was also missing. I was devastated.

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Feather shift mini-dresses on trend for Spring 2011 (Rousse)

My university friend JS excitedly told me all about her new boyfriend Alan. Occasionally she would forget a detail. Fortunately he was just a little further up Dundas Street, so whenever she needed any additional information JS simply ran the few paces uphill to question him. Of more interest, however, was JS’s outfit. She was decked out in a mini-length black shift dress completely covered in white feathers. To keep off the rain she had cut holes for her head and arms through a clear plastic bin liner. Wearing this as an outer layer over the feather dress spoilt the look somewhat.

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My mother-in-law moaned about the poor state of the woodwork in her house, particularly where the paint had worn off the bottom two steps of the staircase. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that this was an obvious consequence of having too many children.

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Kate Middleton – Belle’s new best friend

I had booked a table at ‘Belle Epoch’, the most famous restaurant in Paris. I was there to meet Kate Middleton for a lunch that had been arranged months before ‘the engagement’. Although this was our first meeting, we decided we were best friends and swapped email addresses.

At a motorway service station a man who had just arrived from China wanted to buy antibiotics from me. I refused. I needed them myself.

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A difficult climb half dressed (Belle)

I was at the forefront of a new fashion trend. Crisp white shirts and a peaked cap with no trousers, a la President Wensley Dale from Rastamouse. As I was attempting to climb up the grassy slope at school, it became a vertical drop and I had to grab on to P’s hand to haul myself up. It struck me I was re-enacting a scene from North by Northwest half dressed.

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Gloria Swanson and unnecessary help with a literature review (Rousse)

‘Gloria Swanson?’ confirmed TB (aka Texas T). ‘Recurrent dreams about a silent movie star means only one thing. Your future career lies in Hollywood!’ In response I led him to the far end of the bar away from our family members and the smattering of work colleagues. There I whispered my secret.

JB whipped out a black felt tip pen and drew a grid on the blank sheet of paper. ‘We’ve read the summary of your research idea’, he said, ‘and now I’ll show you how to categorise the content of the sources that you have identified into a literature review’. I was a little puzzled as to why my work merited such close supervision. Then I remembered that the last person to edit my file was (the inexpert) TPR.

**Postscript, 1st March 2011**
TB has been in touch to tell Dreamaticus that his grandfather’s surname was Swanson – spooky…

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Simon Cowell, Cheryl Cole and Gillian McKeith disappoint (Rousse)

Simon Cowell and Cheryl Cole’s sudden departure from the X Factor left a huge hole that I was expected to fill. Knowing very little about the music industry, I let the bony woman through to the next round. She almost crushed the life out of me with her grateful hug.

Simon Cowell can be found elsewhere on Dreamaticus. See:


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It was not long after my uninspiring interview with erstwhile Dr Gillian McKeith that I spotted the little black car parked in a quiet square near my office. Although it was an elderly F registration Golf from the mid-1980s, it had clearly been well cared for and gleamed in the sunshine under a tree. It was unlocked, and I couldn’t resist the temptation to climb inside and pretend that it was mine. From the paraphernalia on the dashboard I guessed that it belonged to a woman about the same age as me. I was later proved right when a bunch of final year students crammed into it to drive to a Business School exam. One of their mothers was the owner. As I questioned them about the condition of the car, they complained about how many ‘facts’ they had to memorise for the assessment. They would much prefer to write discursive essays along the lines of those required for my Knowledge Management class.

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TPR and I were showing an American tourist around Edinburgh. We knew he was a fraud the minute he boasted that he was a very close friend of DC and her husband J, and how he adored their two great Danes. (D is, of course, DT. She lives not with a husband and hounds, but with C the cat.)

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Searching for silver and scallops, with a car smash in-between (Rousse)

With pick-axes and shovels we leapt into the old Land Rover and headed for the hills. Our secret mission was highly illegal: to mine a supposed seam of silver not yet charted by the authorities. It was a huge risk, but if we were successful and not detected, all our money worries would be over.

It was only when we reached Stornoway (masquerading as Hexham) that I realised that I had been oblivious to the whole 37 mile journey from Timsgarry. TPR congratulated me on my driving, but he spoke too soon. I turned right up the hill signposted to Allendale, clipping several parked cars and lamp-posts in my path. I wasn’t too bothered: the red Peugeot 205 only suffered minor damage across the bonnet and was still road-worthy. TPR did not agree.

Not long afterwards I was delighted and amazed to be experiencing VJ’s legendary generosity at first hand. This year I’d made it onto the guest list for her annual party. Other guests included QM graduate KW, who had recently given up his consulting business for a technical role at BT. NR, another former student a couple of years below KW, sat behind me on the bus complaining that he needed so much sleep that he was forced to make a living working afternoons only. The all-day event culminated in a massive feast at the Edinburgh Assembly Rooms on George Street. A rumour circulated that there were scallops on the menu, but all we could find was a plate of cold salmon. At the end of the party VJ declared that she was opting for a quieter life. Her plan was to sell most of her belongings and move into one of her smaller properties. She would be giving up most luxuries, including ‘subscription’ make-up. The catalogue of goods for sale was already available. I expressed interest in a bag of half-finished knitting projects and a pirate-themed laundry basket.

The next day I went for a walk along the cycle paths with VJ. Her daughter and three year old grand-daughter, up from Christchurch in Dorset for the weekend, joined us. TJ spoke enthusiastically about her new life as a young mother in the south of England.

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Socks on the run (Belle)

My favourite knee-length grey socks had run away from home. I tracked them down to a conference being held in a holiday camp and decided to become a delegate. As we ate dinner in the large refectory, my ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend flew her model airplane into the window. I wondered if she had been on board. And if so, how had she shrunk herself down?

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