The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1335 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Easter day arrived and along with a bouquet of flowers which mysteriously appeared in the kitchen sink–all I usually find are dirty dishes that the users are too lazy to rinse and stick in the dishwasher–so this made a nice surprise.

The choccies were lovely too, apparently on behalf of all the children–it was a large box, but I knew I’d have to hide them or they simply evaporate. I put them in the fridge, in the salad box covering them with spring greens.

Julie was really pleased with her hair brush–to me it resembled something between a bottle brush and–um–a lavatory brush? The important thing was that she was pleased with it. A client had given her an Easter egg, so she was quite content to have non-chocolate prezzies.

The youngsters grumbled–they liked their presents but wanted an egg as well. So after breakfast, I told them I’d secreted half a dozen Easter eggs in the garden, but no matter how many they found, they were only allowed to keep one, they had to pass any further ones to one of the others.

Meems found the first one–I reckon Simon told her where to go–he helped me hide them. Next was Danny, who got one from the hole in the wall by the shed. Livvie had one from the apple tree which had decked Trish, and she found a second one for Trish, under my car. At one point Simon had to intervene because Trish said she didn’t see any of the eggs, and Livvie said she must be blind, or words to that effect.

Trish slapped Livvie, who pulled her hair in retaliation–in some ways, I was glad I was dealing with the dinner. I was doing a whole leg of lamb which I basted in lemon, honey with fresh rosemary and mint. I popped it in the low oven of the Aga at eight o’clock and was intending to eat it about one pm.

I microwaved a pile of potatoes and got them ready to make roasties, then began washing carrots and slicing them into sticks to cook in butter in the oven. For greenstuff we had spring greens as recently used for camouflaging a certain box of chocolates–and while no one was looking–I ate a couple of chocs.

Once the dinner was underway, I made myself a cuppa and had just sat down to eat it when Jenny came in with the two little ones and poured herself a cup, and next was Simon who was extolling the weather, in particular the sunshine. It was rather nice-presumably nobody had told the weather it was a bank holiday, so all the rain was queuing up to happen on the next weekend when the Royal Wedding was in progress.

While I was too busy to watch it, I felt sorry for Catherine Middleton, if it does rain and I looked forward to seeing pictures of the dress–she wears some nice outfits at times, and I particularly liked the red suit or coat with the black belt that she wore to church a few weeks ago.

I suddenly thought of church, and called Trish. “Did you want to go to church?”

“Dunno,” she said. She was covered in chocolate and assorted garden muck–she looked like a chocolate flavoured compost heap.

“Well if you’re going, you need to get showered because Gramps will be going in half an hour.”

“I wanted you to take me.”

“I can’t sweetheart, I’m doing the dinner.”

“I could look after that for an hour,” offered Jenny dropping me right in it.

“C’mon, Mummy, we gotta shower.” Trish practically dragged me up the stairs. I surrendered and we both showered together to save time.

“I look like you now, Mummy,” she waggled her groin at me in a very suggestive manner–at least to me it seemed that way–I suppose to a seven year old she was just flaunting what she had, the alopecic form of mine, in miniature.

We hurriedly dried and dressed and I dried and plaited her hair into a French plait with a ribbon to match her dress–in royal blue. I was going to wear trousers until Trish grumbled and I threw on a Laura Ashley dress I’d bought last summer, plus a neutral cardigan and some red court shoes–yes the ones that had got Trish walking when she first came to stay. She called them my magic shoes.

By the time we got to the church, we had two minutes to find a seat and compose ourselves before the service began. It wasn’t a communion, that had been earlier, this was the family service and Trish spotted someone she knew from school who was sat across the aisle from us and they both played peek-a-boo during the interminable sermon, which was on resurrection, oh one in particular but I expect you’d know that anyway.

Despite all my anti-God-botherer stuff, I didn’t spontaneously combust when the shadow of the cross fell on me as they processed around the church. Nor was I struck by lightning, though if the preacher had been it would have livened it up for the rest of us. I don’t know how many elderly people fell asleep but I was fighting hard to stay awake throughout. It must take a real talent to send so many to sleep and this guy seemed to have it in spades–as well as all the other suits. He spoke for twenty minutes–nineteen of which I felt I was losing the will to live. Trish was still playing peek-a-boo with Sascha Freebody, at least that’s who I think she said it was.

Finally, the old buzzard in the pulpit ran out of gibberish to throw at us and we sang a hymn and the prayers finished it off. Once things were over, Trish dragged me over to meet Sascha and her mother, Carol–no not one of the Christmas carols–pay attention, this is Easter.

While the two girls were chatting, Carol Freebody said to me, I know you from somewhere, don’t I?”

“Do you?”

“Yes, now where was it?”

“I did a talk to the school a couple of months ago.”

“That’s it; it’s Lady Catherine, isn’t it?”

“Officially yes, but most people call me Cathy.”

“Okay, Cathy it is, we only live round the corner, would you like to come for a coffee.”

I looked at Trish and she was urging me to say yes. “I can’t stay long, I’ve got a leg of lamb in the oven.”

“I’ve got to go over the mother-in-law’s, a real joy, if you know what I mean?”

I smirked. I was fortunate that I actually liked Monica, even if she did frighten me to death that first time–and still made me uneasy, even though Simon assures me she won’t pester me now we’re married.

The Freebody’s house was a nice detached Victorian pile literally a hundred yards from the church. It was very comfortably appointed and expensively furnished–it transpired her husband worked for Barclays, as in bank. It obviously paid well judging by the furnishings. She made me a coffee while her husband, Gordon, talked to me–the two girls were upstairs playing in Sascha’s bedroom.

“So what d’you do or are you a stay at home wife and mother?”

“I work part time when I can fit it in.”

“Oh yes, doing what?”

“Coordinating the mammal survey of the UK.”

“Oh yes, who’s that with?”

“The government, the Mammal Society, the RSPB, Woodlands Trust and quite a few other bodies and about thirty different university departments up and down the country.”

“So you actually coordinate it?”

“Most of it, yes. I do have a couple of folk helping me on a semi-regular basis.”

“So are you a scientist?”

“I’m an ecologist or field biologist.”

“Not one of these types who stops building developments because they got the wrong sort of newt?”

“Um–sometimes, why, d’you have a problem with that?”

“Not personally,” he said backing down, “but my bank does, we occasionally lose a packet when the builder or developer goes bust, because of dormice in the attic or something.”

“Cathy’s into dormice, aren’t you?”

I nodded.

“She made a film last year about them–it was on the BBC.”

“That was you?” he practically exploded. “Goodness, yes that was a nice bit of filming.”

“Her husband works for a bank too, dear.”

“Oh? Which one? I’m in banking myself.”

“Yes, Carol said. He works for High Street.”

“Oh the family owned one? Must be nice to own your own bank.”

“It has its limitations,” I said finishing my coffee.

“Eh?” he looked puzzled.

“Yes, dear, Cathy is Lady Cameron, her husband is Simon Cameron, Henry’s son.”

“I know who he is,” said Gordon rather sharply.

“I must get back–have to feed the five thousand, though Delia Smith has a recipe with two loaves and five fishes or is it the other way round? C’mon, Trish, let’s go home and sort out the others.”

We left and drove home, I wasn’t sorry to leave her husband–as company he was rather boorish.