The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2549 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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Emailing instructions to Delia from my iPad worked fine with the wi-fi from the train. It was still dark when we boarded it; the we being Sammi, Simon and li’l ol’ me. As I was a big girl now, they were letting me play at being an honorary commuter. I yawned as Simon returned from the buffet car with sandwiches and coffees. It was too early to have more than tea for breakfast—I mean, I should still have been in deep slumber when instead, I was ripped from my bed and told to shower.

It’s difficult enough putting on eye-makeup when one’s eyes aren’t watering from a huge yawn, so the fact that I didn’t look like the villain from a silent movie shows superhuman dexterity and control—no I didn’t swallow my mascara wand. We got to the station with ten minutes to spare—I grumbled I could have stayed in bed a few minutes longer. Simon rolled his eyes and Sammi snorted. I was well turned out, dogtooth check skirt suit in black and white—it hurts your eyes to look at for long, so I thought it would stop my fellow board members staring at me. My feet sported black knee high boots with three inch heels but to go to the station, I wore a long dark grey wool coat, leather gloves and a fluffy scarf. Simon thought I looked okay, so I guess I musta done.

Sammi looked elegant as always in a pinstripe trouser suit and low heels—she learned her lesson after sore toes a couple of times. She wore a camel coat and a fur hat. If I’d had longer, I’d have put my hair up and worn a hat, but with the exception of standing on the station, it wasn’t that cold. Railway stations are always cold places, even in summer.

Closing up the iPad in its leather case, I returned it to my laptop bag where apart from said laptop, the bag contained my notes for the meeting plus a DVD we’d made for the dormouse account holders, a copy on a memory stick, just in case and a copy of the Guardian.

Simon was working on his netbook as he ate his sandwich, Sammi’s fingers danced over her keyboard, pausing now and again to sip her coffee. I turned the paper to the crossword and opened my tuna and cucumber sandwich—not my usual choice for brekkies, but I wasn’t going to complain. I even drank the coffee, but it didn’t cause my brain to kick into action and by the time we got to London, I’d got three clues and nodded off. Simon ‘the cat’ Cameron managed to catch my pen as it fell from my sleeping fingers—so he told me afterwards. I must check with Sammi, he is prone to slight exaggeration at times, usually to put himself in a better light.

An underground took us to Canary Wharf and five minutes’ walk saw us entering the bank. Sammi and all the others have now changed their names to Cameron, even the other Miss Watts, so the concierge was at his most oleaginous as three of the bank’s royal family walked in. “Good morning, your lordship, your ladyship and Miss Cameron.”

“Morgen, Morgan,” said Simon as he did every day, Sammi smiled and I nodded as we headed for the lift having swiped our cards on the security gate. Sam went off to her IT department while Simon went off to his office and I made my way to my nominal office. I asked for a cuppa and while it was being made I checked my appearance in the mirror in the ladies down the corridor. I was fine, so was the tea.

At nine thirty, I walked down to the board room via the loo, a wee, some fresh lippy and a squirt of Coco, and I was ready—to go back to bed. I stifled a yawn and tried to stay awake until it was my turn.

An hour into the meeting we were served coffees, I opted for a latte though I might have been better with espresso, in terms of using it as an anti-soporific, but I remained awake—or appeared to. I was actually sleeping with my eyes open.

I heard my name, or I heard Professor and turned to Henry who was smiling at me. I smiled back then opened my file and talked through my proposal for the dormouse account the profits from which would fund research projects on dormice or other British wildlife. I showed a clip of the DVD we’d prepared to give new account holders and which the directors would have received a week ago.

There was general approval, though one old fuddy-duddy, a man in his sixties I’d guess, suggested that bank had spent enough on green issues, and despite how knowledgeable my contribution had been, weren’t we there to act on behalf of shareholders, customers and to make money, not promote dormice.

Henry’s eyes flashed and he tapped something into his tablet. A moment later, he charmingly but ruthlessly defended me and his decision to appoint me by quoting the feedback from customers, the money I’d saved them and the expected uptake of the dormouse account, especially by children. No wonder I got a bonus last year.

My detractor suggested that children didn’t invest very much, so how were they going to get all this money?

Henry asked how many times he’d swapped banks. The reply was never. Henry asked him to think about it—presumably the answer not switching banks. It seems, no matter how inefficient banks are, we tend to stay with them unless they mess up big time or show their contempt just a tad too openly. It appears it’s not just the Jesuits who like to get ’em young.

The meeting finished at one and Simon and I were whisked off by Henry to meet with Monica at an upmarket restaurant. I was sleepy enough without eating, so declined any alcohol and settled for a small risotto. To drink, I had an elderflower presse, the sharp dry taste refreshing my mouth and helping me to stay awake.

After lunch, Simon and his dad returned to the bank, Monica walked me to the nearest tube station and some half an hour later I was sitting in first class on my way back to Portsmouth. Henry was pleased the meeting had gone so well, especially for my dormouse account. Simon was also happy, saying that once before they’d tried to encourage youngsters and it had been disastrous costing them megabucks. When I’d paled at this, Henry said, “Don’t listen to him, Cathy, that time we didn’t have a lovely lady fronting it nor the advantage of the DVD and the showing of the film two or three times, it always getting good reviews. Even the Echo suggested it was worth another look. It’ll be fine, you mark my words.”

Despite my tiredness I didn’t sleep on the train, the thought I might miss my station enough to keep me awake. I got home slightly too late to collect the girls, so Jacquie was off doing it, enabling me to change and make myself a cuppa before they returned.