A trandem, tourists and a traffic warden (Rousse)

We were bound to be killed, all because JH refused to wear the high-visibility jacket that I was offering him. Even though KT and I could be seen in our yellow regalia, it was really important that JH be visible too, not least because he rode at the back of our three-person bike. As the clouds darkened the route, and it started to pour, I regretted agreeing to travel from Perth to Edinburgh on this ludicrous form of transport.

At the cinema ticket desk I realised that I had brought no money, and I’d left my glasses at home. How would I get in to see the new Harry Potter film? Outside in the street I begged a pound coin from a posse of French tourists (in French) with the intention of phoning home to ask TPR to bring my purse and spectacles. Then I had a better idea of how to assemble enough cash to pay for a cinema ticket: rob a parking meter. I almost succeeded, but was caught by the cinema usherette who doubled as a traffic warden.

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Belle’s bad hair day

One set of parents lived in New York. The other set in San Francisco. So who would the young couple spend Christmas with? This was NOT my type of film and when the girl tricked the boy into flying to Seattle, which looked like a medieval Trumpton, I turned to my companion and said “who is sponsoring this rubbish, the American Tourist Board?”. There was a ‘funny’ scene involving pretty salads and I was carrying the one with yellow peppers out of the utilities room and worrying about whether to dress it here or at the table.

When Rousse and I went to the salon, there was a body under a sheet in the corner and we turned to each other and said “guess we won’t be getting our hair done today then”.

I mocked the test by ignoring the paper and acting up. The television screens on the walls were showing people failing to answer questions on quiz shows while the paper offered bizarre mulitiple choice options: “this woman is a) both unable to speak coherently AND giving the incorrect answer or b)….” I skipped the section on Logic and went straight to the London section. That should be easy. Someone said, knowingly, “Oh, these questions were set by the printer you know” and everyone went “Ah” as if that explained everything. The section on London was just a sequence of photographs. One was of three or four women pleading with a police officer not to let the doctors innoculate their children.

Sitting outside in the beautiful sunshine I was resting from a show rehearsal when a big grey hairy dog walking past stuck his tongue out and in a swift movement removed the chewing gum from my mouth. His owner and I had to prise open his jaws to retrieve it.

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Rousse’s reunion

It was July 2011. As was the case on the days of our 10th and 20th anniversary parties, the 1986 French graduates from the University of Birmingham were enjoying a reunion lunch in the blazing Brummie sunshine. This time we sat at long picnic tables outside, just down the hill from the University railway station. I hadn’t been too keen to organise the whole event (again) due to my hideous workload, but this time I had lots of help from the others, especially GG and his wife J (was JS). When my Griffin flat-mate HW (now HJ) joined us at the table I was shocked to notice that she was pregnant for the fourth time, and would be 47 at the time of the birth. We all guessed correctly that this was a last chance attempt to deliver a boy. Others sitting beside me were CP (now CA), who had been in hall with me at the Manor House, and SC (now SL), with whom I’d spent my year in Nantes and shared a Griffin flat in final year.

Suddenly the entire table emptied. “They must be organising a thank you present for you” said TPR. He was right. They’d just popped up the road to John Lewis (in Edinburgh) so that GG could present me with two bikini tops (he was unsure of my size) and one bottom. This wasn’t as bizarre as it seemed: our afternoon activity following lunch was for us all to go swimming in the University pool. It was a shame that the boy in the gym who looked like QL from behind turned out to be the Irish stand-up comedian Sean Hughes.

Later video footage of the day showed me serving elaborate ice-creams topped with brambles to students. I had no recollection of this at all.

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Chimps, sheep and a dog (Belle)

In the grounds of the stately home, only the chimpanzees were allowed to walk on the grass. The buildings were beautiful, yellow bricked and regency. We were here to reunite a teenage boy with the chimp that had rescued him as a small boy. The two of them chased off across the grass to meet with the rest of the chimps and I thought “I hope that doesn’t make other people think they can run over the grass”.

I had to leave my work colleagues and the sleek grey dog on the tube platform and make my way back. Once again I had forgotten to swipe my oyster card. The train left without me yet I was still on board. The four main television channels were broadcasting terrible programmes. On BBC2, on a documentary about “Britain’s most respected sheep castrator”, the presenter was interviewing the man in question at work. The sheep were all set up like wheelbarrows and he was using a microscope and a hammer and chisel to set about his work. The interviewer asked what help the sheep got to deal with their psychological problems after the procedure. “They just have to get used to it and they soon forget”, was the response.

Fortunately, I was meeting friends at a sunny table surrounded by flowers in a pretty little village to celebrate my birthday. Y arrived carrying two recycled jiffy bags with my presents in. One was an open pack of berry fruit Special K and I knew I wouldn’t make it home without having eaten all of them with my bare hands. They are so more-ish.

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Rousse’s honour and shame

Impressive, or a lack of imagination? They’d named the new wing after me! I first noticed when I looked for the time on one of the branded clocks. What a shame then that I would die from starvation in a stairwell/lift-shaft, all because I got stuck in my attempt to walk down to the floor below my translating/proof-reading colleagues.

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Belle goes Dutch with Obama

I knew exactly what to do to get the Obama campaign back on track. I was breaking into voters’ houses and tuning the radios to Dutch left-leaning radio stations. My team agreed – “that will do it”.

I managed to get Bristol and Bath confused and my hotel bookings weren’t making sense. There was a long, long journey on a bus through parts of south London I didn’t recognise. The Christmas decorations were pretty poor.

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Rousse’s new domestic arrangements

My new routine was to take my weekly bath every Friday in the claw-foot Victorian tub to be found in the main corridor at QMC in Corstorphine. Some people complained that it blocked the way to the library, but anyone with an ounce of agility could easily get past. The more difficult negotiation was with JK, my former Head of School, who was challenging me for my regular bathing spot.

Perhaps I had developed the habit of bathing in public at work because I was angry at TPR’s decision to move house? Our new flat was near Angle Terrace in Edinburgh. I couldn’t help comparing it unfavourably with our last place. For example, instead of looking out on to a well-kept communal garden, all we could see from the window was a piece of inner city scrub. Rather than being welcomed into a big hallway from the porch, behind the front door of our new place were dark, dingy, narrow corridors – or so I thought… Further investigation revealed that we now had 42 bedrooms for friends to stay overnight, and an amazing vast, ornate ballroom for the best parties ever.

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Belle hearts big Eddie

My new boyfriend was on a larger scale than anyone else. I recognised him from TV – he was a Dallas, Texas murder squad detective called Eddie. If only he didn’t take up so much space in the room. I went straight to a pilates class but wasn’t sure why I was wearing white pants and a vest as if I was six years old. The teacher had a word with me about it.

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Guns, roses, a trouser press and trains (Rousse)

I had hoped that EH would be available for lunch. When I called into her office, however, she said that she was too busy examining a PhD by a Guns N’ Roses band member. It was unclear as to whether the candidate was lead singer Axl Rose, or Frank Ferrer, the drummer. Back in my own office I was pestered by students who, amongst other things, wanted access to a photocopier so that they could make hard copies of an e-book by replicating the pages from their Kindle.

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It was our last day at a resort hotel in Fife, and we needed to check out by 10:00. Earlier in the week my school friend JP (now JC) had mentioned that she’d spilt something in the room and had been trying to get rid of the mess using perfumed moisturiser. The hotel staff had now discovered her crime, and when I entered the room they were tutting as they took apart the trouser press. I never learnt the extent of JC’s misdemeanour, but it was clear that we would never be welcome at that hotel chain again, whether in the UK or the Caribbean.

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I was the only passenger on a train driven by TPR. I desperately needed to change from one outfit into another but couldn’t get my white T shirt over my head. As soon as the skip was removed from the track ahead, TPR risked taking his hands off the wheel, and helped me remove the offending item of clothing.

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Do you want water with that? (Belle)

As usual, my flatmates were indifferent to the fact that water was pouring in through the roof. The waterfalls running down the wall were only appearing in my bedroom after all.

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J walked me home from a date under the elevated motorway. I couldn’t tell if he was going to kiss me, or if I wanted him to do so. Surely he wasn’t drunk enough?

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