The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1086 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I realised that arguing with teenagers is like trying to prove a cat wrong–neither have any concept of it and both are entirely self-absorbed, it therefore becomes an object lesson in futility. However, if I strongly disagree on grounds of safety or morality, then I can be just as obstinate and I have greater fire-power via my some degree of holding the purse strings. Simon might be the banker, but I run the house even though Tom owns it.

I thought back to that first time I came here, when Tom asked me to be his hostess. How naive I was back then, how naive I am still, seeing myself as comparable with the Good Samaritan. I obviously have a healthy ego, which is probably necessary to make it through transition–you have to believe in yourself a certain amount or you ain’t gonna make it. Being reasonably presentable as what you are trying to portray helps, but it isn’t everything; at the same time I recognise the assistance I’ve had from my family–my current family, who have closed ranks and supported me more than I can ever repay.

“You’re looking wistful,” remarked Stella.

“I was thinking back to the first time I came to this house, Tom asked me to act as hostess to a very important dinner party.”

“He knew a bit of totty would give him the edge over the others.”

“I beg your pardon–bit of totty–explain yourself, madam.”

She sniggered then roared with laughter.

“Bitch,” I muttered and then laughed too.

“So who was there then?”

“The Under-Secretary of State for the Environment, some lovely Spanish chap who looked like Antonio Banderas, and some bloke from a bank whose name escapes me.”

“Oh, that bad, eh?”

“Well yeah, you see one banker see ‘em all.”

“Oh come off it, they can’t all be as boring as my big bruv.”

“No that’s true, and I did end up sleeping with the banker–apparently we needed the funding.”

“That was before you’d had–“ she made scissor-like actions with her fingers.

“Yes.”

“So how did you manage?” she blushed and so did I, however in for a penny...

“He’d had so much to drink he fell asleep, I told him the next day what a stud he was and he went away quite happy.”

“Clever you, that always works, providing they are very drunk, but you have to be careful they don’t want to do a repeat in the morning.”

“I’d have said I was too sore because of his size.” I was now as red as a pillar box.

She sniggered, “I’ll have to keep that one in mind.”

“Just make sure they don’t want to kiss it better.”

That did it, she almost collapsed laughing. “Can you remember what you wore?” she asked when she’d recovered.

“Yes.”

“Well–what was it?”

“A dress.”

“Duh,” she looked at me and shook her head, “I knew that stoopid, what dress.”

“Oh one some old tart gave me with poppies on it.”

“Is that the one I gave you?”

Now it was my turn, “Duh, like how many old tarts do I know whose clothes fit me?”

“I bought that in Paris, I’ll have you know. Never got round to wearing it.”

“Well I did and I felt the bees-knees in it.”

“So what other women were there?”

“Only the caterers.”

“What? You got to strut your stuff in front of a cabinet minister, a top banker and some guy from the EU? And you end up sleeping with the banker who turned out to be a total wan–banker?”

“More or less.”

“What was wrong with the Spanish Inquisition?”

“All he was interested in was taking cuttings from Tom’s garden.”

“A vegetarian, but he didn’t want to pollinate you?”

“No–but he was rather dishy, what I remember of him.”

“So who else fancied you?”

“Apart from Tom, I have no idea–I mean I could hardly ask them could I?”

“No, but if they have a lump in their pants when they say goodnight, you get a fair idea, don’t you?”

“Stella, I don’t go around staring at men’s crotches.”

“Don’t you? I do–and their bums when they’ve gone past.”

As we were talking Simon appeared, “Hello, Babes,” he kissed me.

“Did you know your better ‘arf ‘ere, was unfaithful to you in his very house the first time she entered it?”

He did a double take, “No, when was this?”

“At some dinner party with politicians and a banker, who apparently gave her more than his funding.”

“What, you mean Tom gave a dinner party?”

“Yes,” said Stella, nodding for emphasis.

“So? Was he a good screw?” he asked looking at me.

“Definitely,” I said.

“Oh well that’s alright then, what’s for dinner, I’m starving?”

“I haven’t started it yet.”

“Get a Chinese delivered! You like those don’t you?”

“Yeah, but I’m happy to make something.”

“No, order one in, I’d like to talk to my harlot wife–upstairs.”

I did as I was asked and ordered the set meal for seventy five–only joking, got the set meal for six, it would there in half an hour. Mind you it cost seventy five pounds.

“So what’s this all about, Miss Watts?”

“Oh I was reminiscing about the first time I came into this house, and she asked me. I decided I’d wind her up and told her I slept with the banker.”

“You did.”

“So it was all half truths, well that bit was.”

“I remember you wanting to tell me something, but I was so gone on you that I didn’t let you tell me–I am so glad I didn’t.”

“Why?” I asked although the answer was obvious.

“Because I might have lost you.”

“I love you,” I said and jumped onto him and he fell backwards onto the bed with me still on top of him.

“Everyone does,” he said, smirking, and I began hitting him.

The takeaway arrived before I could do any serious damage, he was laughing so much there was more chance of him overdosing on endorphins than me hurting him.

Julie came down wearing an outrageous outfit which left very little to the imagination and Simon and I simultaneously said, “You’re not going out like that!” At which she burst into tears and flounced upstairs slamming the door behind her.

“You’re her mother–go and deal with it!” My lord and master commanded.

“Yes but it’s you she wants to buy her a car, you have the stronger negotiating position.”

“I don’t do tearful women.”

“She isn’t a woman yet, she’s a spoilt brat throwing a tantrum.”

“I don’t think I can differentiate, so you’d better go.”

“I’ll go,” said Trish, rolling her eyes and sighing, at which Simon snorted soy sauce all over his clean shirt and I gasped.