The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3138 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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It must be morning again, here I am in the office sorting out the world again while sipping tea and looking at the Guardian online. I wondered when that would happen. The happening is some idiot from Wales calling for a secession from the union as is being called for by the one track zombie dwarf in Scotland. Seeing as both countries are running at large fiscal deficits, I don’t see how either is viable—not that evidence appears to be a factor in political decision making these days, especially by the electorate—who prefer to believe lies if they get to blame all their ills on another, preferably ethnically different and smaller, group.

Wasn’t it Dr Johnson who suggested that, ‘Patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel?’ It certainly wasn’t Nigel Farage, who when he isn’t brown nosing DJT appears to be something of a scoundrel. I don’t doubt that he sees himself as a patriot, especially if that means xenophia, unfortunately, what he sees as being patriotic is different to my own view, which is far less didactic and more liberal.

I finished my tea and picked up the pile of paper in my in-tray. Oh boy did I feel like going home and staying there. I don’t know about dead tree, but there seems to be half a bloody forest on my desk—I’m sure it’s breeding—the paperwork, that is. It wasn’t quite nine o’clock when I started and it was twelve when I was summoned to lunch with Tom. He had something he needed to talk about. Immediately I felt like a guilty schoolgirl waiting outside the headmistress’ study, unsure of the criminal charges against her, but pretty sure they had something.

At quarter past, he appeared and we walked out to my car and then drove to his usual location for the stimulation of his gustatory senses and alimentary system, in other words we went to his usual restaurant and we ordered the usual, him—a chicken curry with rice and poppadoms, me—a jacket spud with tuna in mayonnaise. On the way over he didn’t say why he wanted to speak to me and I didn’t ask. I’d take my timing from him and while that could be risky, insofar as he may not say anything at all, I didn’t want to sound too eager to know what he wanted to talk about. It reminded me that Henry had wanted to speak to me in private a little while ago and never actually got round to doing it. When I asked him he’d forgotten what it was about. As I never actually knew, I couldn’t help him very much.

I’d nearly finished eating my meal when he suddenly said, “I’m thinking o’ retiring.”

“Oh, what brought that on?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know but he was going to tell me anyway.

“Jest feelin’ it’s a’ tae much.” He suddenly looked old and tired.

“What brought this on?” as far as I knew he hadn’t felt like that a few days ago.

“Och ye ken, tae much tae dae all thae time an’ I’m no gettin’ ony younger.”

“How long have you felt like it?”

“Och f’ a wee while.”

“Who else have you spoken to about it?”

“Only ye, ye’re ma dochter efter a’,” he looked somewhat disdainfully at me.

“I appreciate that, Daddy, but I was just trying to establish a few things. I’m a scientist, remember?”

“Are ye, och sae ye are—sort of.”

“Same sort as you, biologist, remember—I know it’s a wee while since you were one, but...”

“Ye cheeky wee monkey.”

“I’m a primate, Daddy, but as I don’t have a tail or hairy face and body and am hopeless at climbing trees, I not a monkey; but then it is a while since you thought about biology...”

He glowered at me and all I wanted to do was smirk. Instead I blushed and felt pretty stupid.

“I may be auld, but it’s a’ workin’ under ma sporran and beret.”

For a moment I had to think what he was on about. Sporran—a cross between a handbag and codpiece—okay, pretty sure that refers more to the latter than somewhere to keep his wallet. Beret—right, underneath that is a head—that one’s pretty obvious too. If he shoved his beret in his sporran, would that make him a d...head? No he’s my dad.

“Let’s concentrate on your dilemma, shall we?”

“Whit dilemma is that?”

“That of retirement.”

“I’m no going tae retire but they might try tae make me.”

“Who are, they?”

He rolled his eyes, “Thae university, wha else?”

“Can they do that—I didn’t think they could.”

“Aye they can o’er seventy.”

Despite having looked at so many policies recently, that wasn’t one I could recall. “D’you want me to check—the policy, that is?”

“Whit fa, I ken whit’s in it, I wrote it.”

“So what d’you want me to do, unwrite it?”

He beamed at me, “Exactly that—see I ken ye’d be a scientist one day, jest no today.”

“Ha bloody ha, remember you need my help, buster.”

“Why d’ye think I bought ye lunch?”

“Bribery and corruption, eh?”

“Aye, works every time.”

“Shouldn’t I declare a conflict of interest?”

“If ye like, but they’ll no tak any notice of ye.”

“Is that because I’m a woman?”

“No, it’s because ye’re daft as a brush.”

“Thanks for building up my self esteem and dashing it to pieces moments later.”

“Dinnae be sae thin skint.”

Is this the pot calling the kettle black or vice versa?

“I wasn’t aware I was.”

“Ye’re ma dochter, sae they’ll accuse ye o’ conflict o’ interest, which wid be true except, ye value ma advice an’ guidance sae much as Vice Chancellor, that ye’d be reluctant to support thae calls f’ ma retirement.”

Only because you’d be under my feet all day when I was home, unlike now. “That’s pretty much how I feel about things, anyway.”

“Aye, I ken that, it’s why I said it.” He smirked and I simply wanted to accuse him of being a patronising old fart.

“However, I could avoid the mention of conflict of interests by not saying anything at all.”

“Whit?” he gasped and I managed to restrain the smirk which was in danger of spreading across my face. “Ye’d betray yer own faither?”

“Is that any worse than lying?”

“Ye’d no be lying—exactly.”

“What would I be doing then?”

“Jest bein’ guarded wit thae truth.”

“Isn’t that simply a euphemism for lying?”

He shrugged. “I hef tae gang back tae ma office.”

I drove him back to the campus and left him to it while I tried to mull my own thoughts into some cohesive order. I needed another cuppa...