The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1893 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

On returning to home I herded the girls into my study as soon as we had coats off. “Right, which of you would like to tell me about teaching Meems to punch people?”

Trish and Livvie looked at each other, then at the carpet and then back at each other.

“I’m waiting,” I said, and that energised them a little because they now glanced at each other and the floor more quickly. “Well?”

It was Livvie who cracked first, “It was the ‘Lympics.”

“The Olympics?”

“Yes, Mummy.”

“The boxing,” supplied Trish.

“Boxing?”

“Yeah, that girl won a gold medal.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“We went into the garage and used Auntie Stella’s punch bag.” The one Stella and I used for working out with the kickboxing.

“And?”

“That’s it, we just used to punch the bag really hard, pretending we were boxing.”

“Is this true?” I asked Mima who nodded very emphatically.

“Okay, now I’m not sure that boxing is a good thing for young ladies, but I approve of most forms of exercise and some self defence is always useful. If you want to learn to box, then we’ll get you some lessons because hitting a heavy punch bag incorrectly can damage your hands. Is that what you want to do?”

“Not really,” offered Livvie. “We like, enjoyed it when the ‘Lympics were on, but not now.”

“Okay, when you’re a bit older I think it might be useful for you to learn how to defend yourselves, so I’ll possibly enroll you in a karate class or self defence. I think you’re too young at the moment and could damage yourselves.”

“Some of the girls in my class do it now,” protested Trish.

“I don’t care, I think you’re too young for really strenuous exercise, and karate can be that.” I also thought she’d be bored stiff doing set exercises, which is all they do until they’re older and progress up the belts. Mind you, with my luck, they’d be had up for half killing someone, although martial arts are supposed to teach self discipline.

They all sighed in disappointment. Why have humans got to fight all the time? What’s the point of having developed huge brains relative to our body size, when all we do is use them for designing ways to kill each other?

“Who was the girl who teased you?” I asked Mima.

“Mewanie Wusseww.”

I began to wish I hadn’t asked her. “Melanie Russell?”

“That’s what I said,” she complained.

“I was just checking. Do I know her?”

“Her dad is a doctor.”

“Medical doctor?” I asked Trish.

“Think so–when we did a project on illness, she brought in all these pictures and posters.”

“I see.” I had a vague recollection of seeing the exhibition. If they did one on dormice, I reckon I could supply plenty of pictures.

“Okay, ask David to give you a glass of milk and a biscuit, unless he’s made some cakes, in which case you are allowed one each only.”

“Yes, Mummy,” they said and almost ran out of my study.

Stella came back with Jacquie and all the little ones, Catherine toddled into my study and I picked her up and sat her on my lap.

“Ah, you’ve got her,” said Stella.

“Yes, tell me, d’you know a Dr Russell?”

“Only Peter Russell, he’s a pathologist at the QA, why?”

“It seems Mima decked his darling daughter earlier.”

“Mima?” she said and smirked, “Mima wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“The girl was teasing her, she hit the girl, the girl hit her back, she delivered a haymaker by all accounts and the girl went down.”

“Well I’ll be buggered,” she exclaimed.

“Not by me you won’t.”

“What?”

“Buggery, I’m trying to give it up.”

“As in assault and buggery?” she asked.

“I thought that was assault and battery?”

“Oh yeah, perhaps it is–yeah, ’course it is–silly cow.”

“Anyway, why did she hit her?”

“It appears Melanie Russell teased her mercilessly and Mima slapped her and it escalated from there.”

“Isn’t she older than Mima? I’ve got vague recollection of seeing him with his kids at some hospital function.”

“Yes, a year or two older...” I went on to relate how she’d been training on the punch bag in the garage.

“Well I never, and they taught themselves?”

“So it would seem. I told them to be careful because you can break your wrist if you punch incorrectly as well your thumb. I used to hold my thumb inside my fingers.”

“A girly punch, that doesn’t surprise me,” Stella laid on the scorn.

“Stella, I do all I can to avoid hitting people or being hit, I always have–but sometimes people who like to hit others or being hit by others seem to follow me around.”

“Funny you should say that...”

“Ha ha, not. I rarely start anything if I can help it.”

“No but your finishing skills are quite good from what I’ve seen of them.”

“I think I’d better have a little word with them again in the garage with the punch bag to make sure they’re not going to hurt themselves and also about not hitting people unless it can be avoided.”

“Good idea, that way if they have to hit someone, it will be a goodie.”

“No, Stella, I hope they learn that running away is far better ninety nine per cent of the time.”

“Yeah, but on the hundredth, smack ’em between the eyes.” She said this with such glee and punched an imaginary opponent.

“You’re so violent, for a girl,” I said dead pan.

“Meee? You’re the one who does the most damage.”

“Life seems to send me these challenges.”

“Challenges–your life is like bloody James Bond.”

“Bond, Jane Bond,” I said in as deep a voice as I could and she cracked up and that made Catherine giggle although she had no idea what we were laughing at.

“So, d’you want me to get some boxing gloves for one of them for Christmas?” asked Stella as I burped Catherine. It seemed the giggling shifted some wind.

“Oh she was like a gannet lunch time, gobbling everything in sight. We had to stop her trying to eat one of the waitresses when she took our order.”

“She’s not a goblin, how dare you?” I scolded Stella, “You’re a little pixie aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“I didn’t say she was a goblin, I said she was gobbling.”

“She’s not a turkey either, goodness kiddo, your Auntie Stella tells some awful fibs.”

Stella gave me an old fashioned look which was interrupted by Trish dashing in, “Auntie Stella, Puddin’ is tryin’ to climb up the chimney.”

“Oh God,” she gasped and dashed off while Catherine and I sat in my study and absolutely howled with laughter.