Curry versus keynote (Rousse)

There was barely half an hour before the opening keynote speech and I still hadn’t finished preparing the chicken curry that I had promised for dinner for day 2 of the conference. As soon as the sessions started, I would have no time for anything other than attending and participating in the lectures, panels, and workshops.

There was only one thing for it: to leave the diced meat to fry in the pan on a low heat and hope that another member of my family would finish cooking the dish for me. The more urgent priority was to reach the conference venue next to Edinburgh’s Waverley station as fast as possible. I took up my father’s offer to drive me there in the white Volvo.

We left the car in a free parking space outside the hospital, then I dashed into the lecture theatre just as the first keynote speaker took the stage. It was rather embarrassing that members of the audience spoke over him, including my colleague JB, loudly extolling the virtues of doctoral research in an Indian accent.

I decided that there were perhaps time, after all, to return home and complete the cooking. However, this plan came to nothing when I found that the car had been clamped and my father was arrested. His crime was to have left the Volvo in a space reserved for high priority emergency vehicles.

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Suing CalMac for ruining ‘holiday of a lifetime’ (Rousse)

We disembarked the CalMac ferry in Stornoway and stood on the dock to wait for the staff to bring our bikes up from the car deck. It soon became evident that the bikes were no longer stowed below. Eventually we discovered that they had been thrown overboard into the sea, just as the boat came into port.

Some way along the coast, we saw random bike frames and wheels tossing about in the waves. We waded into the water to search for our own bikes, but they were nowhere to be seen. Instead, I picked up a 3-gear girl’s bike from the 1970s. This would have to do for the time being.

TPR also found a temporary steed. He rushed back to Stornoway to hire a top maritime lawyer. We would sue Calmac for ruining our ‘holiday of a lifetume’.

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Hanged for minor misdemeanours (Rousse)

In my new life, in my new town, I immersed myself in voluntary activities. First, I helped out at the public library, and then served on the school board.

My main priority, however, was to outlaw the archaic practice of punishing youngsters for their minor dismeanours by public hanging.

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Pyjama party for the blue-haired (Rousse)

While her husband K was out of town with the children, DTJ hosted a party for her girlfriends.

I felt very out of place in my cotton dress amongst the blue-haired, pyjama-clad youngsters.

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Monkey in a motorhome (Rousse)

With my sister at the wheel of our motorhome, we were driving south through France to the drop off my niece A and her partner D at a ski resort. It was a wonder that we weren’t killed en route. My sister insisted on driving on the left hand side of the road, forcing the oncoming vehicles to cross the carriageway to avoid colliding with us.

Unfortunately the tiny 4-inch high monkey (seated with us on the back seat) didn’t survive the journey. Somehow it got trapped under one of the other passengers. The first sign of its distress was bleeding from the eyes. Soon afterwards its entire body disintegrated into a bloody blob.

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John Peel, the Cure, and the B-52s (Rousse)

John Peel and I discussed interesting beats in pop songs. I moved the conversation on to two of my favourites: A forest by The Cure, and Planet Claire by the B-52s.

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The pretend polyglot (Belle)

I met a man at a party who claimed he spoke ‘many languages’. When I asked for an example, he said “Modern Hieroglyphics”.

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Hotel cutlery ‘extras’ (Rousse)

‘Are you insured?’ asked the hotel manager.

TPR looked up from his plate of parma ham and Hollandaise sauce. Why did she need to know this?

‘It’s just that we noticed on the CCTV from last night’s dinner service that you use your knife and fork with a great deal of force. This probably explains that damage to our crockery over the duration of your stay with us.’

It sounded like an ‘extra’ was about to be added to our hotel bill.

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Hotel house Womble greets guests (Rousse)

As the two-foot tall house Womble wandered the hotel corridors, he hailed every guest with a handshake and the cheery greeting: ‘Remember you’re a Womble!’

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Mother and daughter Cosmopolitan cover girls (Rousse)

Hidden in the pile of ancient copies of Cosmopolitan were three issues of particular interest. My mother – aged about 35 – featured as the magazine’s cover girl on two of them, and my sister S on the third. They both looked fabulous, but I had some questions:

  1. How had this come about?
  2. Why had I never known about this?
  3. What kind of magic went into the makeovers to transform my nearest and dearest into beauty queens?

My third question was answered by a photographer: clever lighting and camera angles.

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