Belle blasts Beastie Boys

I was cast as a ‘Greek Chorus’ type flatmate in a reality show. I would make strange entrances and exits and comment on what the contestants were up to.

My most famous entrance was via a black shiny helicopter equipped with large speakers. I flew over Tower Bridge with the Beastie Boys blasting out “No Sleep Till Brooklyn”. When I landed I joined two of the flatmates to display our pets to fans who were on the other side of a full-length window. Flatmate One displayed our pet bat, I displayed Oscar the black cat.

Even as I showed the cat’s tummy to the public, I was aware of just how much I was scraping the barrel of life.

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Stephen Fry stalker (Rousse)

‘Will you please get out of my line of sight?’ Stephen Fry barked from the podium.

He had noticed me at last, but he still didn’t know that I was his stalker.

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Naked swimmer’s shame (Rousse)

TPR was about to bring even more shame upon us.

After our long swim downstream, he hauled himself out of the river in the middle of a densely populated American city, peeled off his wetsuit, and declared that it was their problem if the prudish citizens did not appreciate his naked body.

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The draw of Guatemala (Rousse)

The garden of my great-grandparents’ house was crammed with people I knew, from TPR’s sunbathing ex-colleagues to my board gaming PhD students.

The latter group was my target. I promised them the full experience of the mess and quirkiness of a party at my mother’s house. The Volvo was just outside, ready to transport them there.

When I saw GB and her friend Toni (as noted on one of three ID tags clipped to her shirt), I extended this offer of unique hospitality to them too.

‘Well, that sounds fun’, said GB. ‘But we can’t come. We’re just confirming the final details of our trip to Guatemala’.

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Portrait painting in the compost corner (Rousse)

JLW had long dropped out of our friendship group, so what was she doing in my garden standing next to an easel in the area usually reserved for the compost bin?

She was teaching techniques of portrait painting to a small group of enthralled followers.

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Lost audience, sight, and a Dutch cap (Rousse)

When responding to the question as to how I had met my boyfriend, my first job was to correct the enquirer. We were simply friends from University who had first met at a bus stop on the Bristol Road South in Northfield, Birmingham. I then turned to the audience to explain the development of social networks amongst undergraduates on language degree programmes, and the difference in friendship patterns for those studying more than one language. Nobody was interested.

Later I went blind because I lost the muscle strength in my eyelids. As a consequence, I couldn’t find my Dutch bonnet when it came off my head at the quayside.

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Flood, theft, and burglary (Rousse)

It rained so heavily that the entire garden turned into a massive, muddy, swamp.

Our tandem was stolen in front of our very eyes.

When I stepped out of bed onto the rough surface of an inferior replacement for our Chinese rug, I knew that we must have been burgled. The absolute proof was that my eternity and wedding rings, as well as TPR’s great grandmother’s engagement ring, were all missing from the bedside table.

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Cake, china cabinets, and Charles Dickens (Rousse)

When LM and I returned to campus, we were shocked at the neglect that it had suffered in the past year. We hoped that the new students would not be disappointed with their choice of university. Whatever their opinion of the teaching environment, however, there would still be cake for them.

It was only then that LM remembered that the cake was at my mother’s house. We would have to travel all the way there back to fetch it. Could this be done in six hours before our afternoon classes? Possibly.

At my mother’s house, my sister tried to sell us two china cabinets, then offered to drive us north again. We should have turned her down. She didn’t know the way, and two hours later we were stuck in a small town that none of us recognised.

However, not all was lost. We got out of teaching for the rest of the day in favour of spending the afternoon in the town’s Charles Dickens novelty shop.

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Stephen Fry turns up nose at roll up soap bag (Rousse)

For years, my little sister scoured the sales for bargains. Many of her purchases had been stored away unused for years, the majority still in their original packaging.

I took a pile of these goods to a posh toy shop in a quiet shopping centre. The new mother proprietor (complete with bouncing baby on her knee) allowed me space in her shop to display my sister’s items. I laid everything out on a table and waited for my first customer.

Stephen Fry passed by and I tried to interest him in a roll up soap bag. He walked away without a word.

News soon reached the shop owner that the quality of my goods was rather poor. When she inspected my table, she agreed. I would have to find somewhere else to offload my sister’s rubbish.

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Wool and sheep, sex and turkeys (Rousse)

TPR and I were checking (a) the stream that was coursing all the way from the pond to under our bedroom window, and (b) the encroachment of teenagers on our property as they partied in the catacombs beneath the Edinburgh streets, when my American friend JG came to our back door with her friend Mary.

I had completely forgotten about their planned visit to the UK to buy wool from British sheep, and to learn how to sex turkeys.

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