The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1238 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“I’m not fwightened of funda an’ wightnin’ any mo,” asserted Mima.

“That’s good,” observed Jenny, “what made you think differently about them?”

“We’s aww onwy here ‘cos of a funda an’ wightnin’ an’ Mummy gettin’ knocked off h’ bike.”

“Is that so?” asked Jenny.

I picked this up as I passed, “Is what so?”

“We’re only here because of a thunder storm and you being hit off your bike?”

“I thought the theory involved one or more comet impacts, or the intervention of a Canaanite fertility god–take your choice, but there’s even less evidence for the latter.”

“I think Mima meant, here, now, in this house.”

“Oh that–yeah, looking at things simplistically, she’s probably right.”

“So, care to share it with me, some time?”

“One day, unless you get Meems to tell you.”

“I’ww teww you, Jenny.” Mima took Jenny’s hand and took her off towards the lounge. Danny and the other two girls were playing on their computers.

“Where’s Mima?” asked Livvie walking into the dining room.

“In the lounge with Jenny, if you go in there too, Jenny might understand what Mima’s saying a little more easily.”

“Okay,” she shrugged her shoulders and went off to find her sister. I went back to the kitchen and the evening meal. I peeled a load of potatoes, and popped a couple of packets of sausages on a baking tray in the oven. I decided we’d have bangers and mash, which we’ve not had for ages. I decided as well, I'd use some baked beans, so later on there may well be some bangers about–especially from Simon.

Once it was all on the go, I sat down and looked at my own laptop and a few emails about the survey. Someone was trying to suggest they saw dormice in woodland in the north of Scotland. Whatever it was, dormouse it wasn’t. There are no known sites that far north.

The next one was also from Scotland, a poor quality photo of what could be a pine marten. Now that is something I’d like to see, if ever I get the harvest mouse film done, I might try and persuade the BBC that they need one on the pine marten. The latest suggestions are that they may be more widely distributed than at first thought, because they are very shy, crepuscular animals who hunt things like squirrels and given that squirrels are pretty nippy about the trees–especially, red squirrels, pine martens are even faster–they almost fly through the trees.

Effectively, they are like arboreal stoats, although stoats and weasels will sometimes climb trees and have been found in dormouse nest boxes. The difference is, trees are the preferred hunting territory of pine martens, the only one of the badger clan to be so adapted, in this country. For a small blob in the North Sea, we don’t do badly for Mustelids, there’s the badger, otter, stoat, weasel, pole cat, pine marten, ferret and escaped mink. In most areas, they are the top of the food chain as we officially have no large predators, except escaped dogs, possibly wild boar which will kill and eat anything they can catch and the most effective predator of them all–even able to kill deer–the motor car.

There are ideas of re-introducing wolves and even bears into the country, or even more exotics, like lynx. The only member of the cat family that is a true wild animal here, is Felis sylvestris or Wildcat, sometimes called the Scottish Wildcat although it is known in a few places in the North of England. I haven’t had a sighting of those for ages, although I’m not officially supervising those, just rodents. Oh, a coypu–gotta be Norfolk–yep, it is.

Simon came home at five thirty and I served up a load of bangers and mash with baked beans. I had creamed the spud–ie mashed it, then beaten in milk and butter.

“Oh goody, school dinners,” he said when he saw what I was serving.

At dinner, Jenny embarrassed me and made Simon smile by asking about me falling for him on our first date. He didn’t seem to care too much about embarrassing me further by telling it his way, which was that I was drunk and in charge of a pair of high heels, fell on top of him and tipped my glass of red wine all over his best shirt at the same time.

“What’s this about, Tom having a lady friend?” asked Jenny.

“What?” gasped Simon, “The old devil–good for him.”

“Nah false alarm, it’s the Vice Chancellor’s wife, he’s over in India or something drumming up new business and Daddy’s entertaining her–they’re old friends.” I hope I removed the rumours in one go.

“Wasn’t there something about him on the radio earlier?” Simon tried to recall. “Yeah, he’s been kidnapped or assassinated by bandits, or something.”

“You’re joking?” I said almost choking on a forkful of mashed potato.

“No I’m not, Sir Godfrey Dawes or something like that, thought of the bike manufacturer.

“Sir Godrick Dawes and she’s Lady Diana Dawes,” I corrected him.

“That’s the one, I tell you what, babes, this is better than school dinners ever were. We used to joke about the sausages there as being the, um–bits from dead men.” He blushed when he remembered we had children present.

“Chipolatas were they?” I added quickly at which, Jenny laughed so hard she nearly fell off her chair. Simon blushed furiously and shrugged his shoulders.

“These are made from dead men, are they?” asked Julie.

“No, these are all genuine pork,” I informed her.

“Piggy willies,” said Trish and began giggling which spread to the other kids. In less than a minute the table was in uproar. I glared at Simon whose schoolboy humour had sparked it all off.

He banged the table to call order but it only made them worse. It was at least ten minutes before they calmed down. I admit I was getting more than a little cross at this behaviour at the table but giggle fits tend to have their own timescale and end when they can no longer laugh without it hurting.

Simon continued eating, but the girls didn’t eat any more meat, and I eventually sent them all away from the table and told them to get changed for bed as they’d be going there early. They sauntered off still bloody giggling.

I was clearing up when the phone rang. “Hello, Cathy, I need to ask a wee favour.”

“Daddy, are you okay?”

“I’m fine but I need fa us tae put up a friend o’mine fa a few days.”

“Lady Dawes?”

“Aye. Hoo did ye ken that?”

“I have my sources.” I almost laughed over the phone, I soon lost my humour.

“They’ve kidnapped Godrick oot ‘n India an’ some bastard has bin oot tae her hoose an’ turned it o’er. Sae can ye change ma beddin’ and I’ll kip ‘n thae sofa.”

“There is no way you’re sleeping on a sofa, Daddy, not in your own house.”

“Och, it’ll be alricht.”

“No it won’t. I’ll set up a bed in the attic room and she can have Julie’s room.”

“Who can have my room?” asked Julie walking past me but I waved her away.

“Isnae that tae much trouble, lassie?”

“No trouble at all, though it might cost you for some driving lessons as compensation to her ladyship.”

“Aye, that’s fine.”

“When will you be here?”

“In aboot an ‘oor.”

“Okay, we’ll get right on it.”

“Why is it always my room?” asked Julie as she helped me move her stuff up to the attic room.

“Because it’s the nicest room and Jenny has the guest room at the moment.”

“Well put her in the attic, she’s only a bloody servant.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that and don’t want to hear anything like it ever again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mummy, I’m sorry–but it’s bit of a pain.”

“I know, which is why Gramps will eventually fork out for a couple of driving lessons.”

“Big deal.”

“Julie, look at it logically, the quicker you pass your test the quicker you get a car.”

“Yeah, I s’pose.”

“It doesn’t mean he’ll pay for two of the lessons we’ve already booked but two extra ones, so you may be driving sooner.”

“Oh yeah, I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“I may be a lot of things, Julie, but stupid I’m not.”

“So I see–you’re sneaky, Mummy.”

“No–not sneaky, just able to see opportunities–it’s something women call feminine wiles, but it’s mainly about seeing opportunities and steering men towards them.”

“It is sneaky.”

“Yeah–maybe, but it works.”