Introducing Queen Manchester (Rousse)

Manchester was declared the capital of the UK. In recognition, Her Majesty, dressed all in yellow, declared henceforth that she would be known as Queen Manchester.

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Reunion with scar-faced friend (Rousse)

I ran across the road to the figure that I thought I recognised. Was it DM? Yes, of course it was! She had obviously aged, and seemed to have a scar on her face, but you could easily tell that it was her.

She told me that since DP had been in touch, she was happy to see us all again. At that very moment many members of our final year degree cohort came around the corner to greet us.

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A dinner acceptance regretted (Rousse)

FR invited me to dinner at her new house in a less fashionable part of town. I accepted, though rather reluctantly.

FR was not ready for me when I arrived at her untidy house in time for the meal. She had only just popped the chicken in the oven, and asked if I would mind gutting the salmon.

I really wished that I had turned down the invitation.

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Queen demands payment (Belle)

It was a bright sunny day, and the flower beds were a little too vivid. I suspected that they had been airbrushed for an appearance on a biscuit tin, or it was the 1960s. I gave a small girl riding a tiny tricycle a little push and she accidentally rode her front wheel into a flower bed. Almost immediately, the Queen rushed out of the French windows, wearing a green tweed skirt and with her hand outstretched. She was only appeased when I handed over a crisp £1 note for the ‘damage’ to the flowers.

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Lazy academics unworthy of titles (Rousse)

I waited patiently in my gown for my turn to cross the stage – but the ceremony ended without an invitation to mount the steps.

A member of Human Resources staff eventually told me that the Principal and Dean had blocked my award of emeritus professor because I was lazy.

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Risks of mistaking a deep coma for death (Rousse)

I had some explaining to do when JG and his wife BG flew in for a brief visit.

‘Isn’t you father dead?’ enquired JG, peering over at the wizened old man muttering incoherently in his chair.

‘We thought so’, I replied. ‘However, it would appear that he had been in a coma the past few months. It’s a good job that we didn’t bury him.’

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References essential for employment (Rousse)

Now that we had decided for certain to remodel the back of our house, TPR set to work emptying all the rooms of furniture. He soon discovered that this was too big a job for one person, so put a call out for help – on a public Facebook page!

Soon the place was swarming with strangers offering their services in exchange for the generous rate of pay.

‘Who are these people?’ I demanded to know, observing that many didn’t appear to be working at all, but lounging about the place laughing and flirting with one another.

‘Just some neighbours keen to help us’ he replied.

‘And did you seek references for the members of your new workforce? How do you know that these people are trustworthy’

‘Oh, I didn’t think of that…’ he confessed.

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Dangers of hitch-hiking in London (Rousse)

As soon as we settled into the back of the car, I realised our error. ‘I know this from a movie plot’, I thought. ‘The driver is monster. After giving us a lift to our named destination this evening, he will later attempt to kidnap us from our own homes’.

My fears were were confirmed when the driver leant over to the back seat and handed each of the three of us an envelope and biro. ‘Please write down your name and address, and I’ll send you a treat in the post’, he offered.

I scratched onto the paper ‘Mandy Rigg, 7 Larch Avenue, Islington’ in full view of my two companions. ‘Come on you two’, I ordered, ‘Pop your Islington addresses on your envelopes too’. At first TPR looked quizzical – who on earth was Mandy Rigg? –  but he soon understood my message, as did our companion. We handed back the envelopes and we were soon on our way.

‘Oh look, there’s a tube station!’ I shouted ‘Please drop us off here’.

‘Certainly’, said the driver.

Safely on the pavement, I expressed to TPR and our companion my relief at our lucky escape – only to find that the taller of the two people now standing next to me, grinning manically from ear to ear, was the driver. TPR was nowhere to be seen.

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Clubbing with David Mitchell (Rousse)

Having met David Mitchell at his posh private members’ club, I wanted to repay the favour.

Would taking him along to the premises of the Royal Society of Edinburgh suffice, I wondered?

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Riverdance outdoors! plays in Finland (Rousse)

I neatly parked the car in a Finnish municipal car park. From here we watched the setting of the stage for Riverdance outdoors!

I was very excited to see the performance itself, but instead TPR and I felt obliged to join our hosts JT and GW in their civic duty of clearing weeds from the path beside the river.

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