The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1366 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“How’s it going?” asked Jenny.

“The play?”

“Yes, what else–you’re sat there with the script in front of you–unless it’s secretly Cycling Weekly–but I thought that had larger pages.”

“No it’s not–but that reminds me, I have a pile of them to put into recycling.”

“Okay, I’ll remind you-what about this lot?” she pointed at a different pile of paper.

“No–don’t ever chuck out any professional journals–that’s the Mammal Society stuff. One of them has an article by me in there as well.”

“Don’t you keep a copy on your computer?”

“Of course I do–I save them to a memory stick as well.”

“So why are you keeping all these things then?”

“Because there are several papers I want to have for reference.”

“Can’t you get a scanner–it would save loads of room.”

“I don’t want to scan them–I prefer to keep the originals–okay?”

“Keeps your tits on–I was only trying to tidy the place up.”

I walked over to a bottom bookshelf and picked up the plastic magazine holder, put the magazines in and shoved it back on the shelf. “Satisfied?” I snapped.

She gave me a dirty look and flounced out of the room. There’s something very female about flouncing, isn’t there. I mean men don’t do it–they storm out, whereas we flounce. Mind you, I haven’t done it for ages–can’t remember when even–it would have to be Simon as the provocation.

Geez, I just remembered flouncing when I was supposedly a boy–actually, I did several times when I was little but when I was a student I did it at home the night before Dad gave me that hiding.

He’d been niggling at me all evening, about my lack of masculinity. It didn’t worry me because I was building up to going to see the GP for a referral to a gender clinic. I can’t quite remember what he said but I said something in return which annoyed him, and flounced out of the room slamming the door and then rushing up to my room–where I locked the door. He came banging on it but I refused to talk to him let alone open the door. The next night–he beat the crap out of me.

I thought I’d better go and see Jenny and talk her down from whatever ceiling she was standing on. I went in search of her and she was talking to the two little ones.

“She doesn’t appreciate me--your mother–I work all sorts of silly hours and all I get is my head snapped off. I can’t take it any more–it would be safer working in Afghanistan than here.”

I eased out into the kitchen and made a pot of tea, then poured two cups and walked into the dining room. She was still talking to the baby who was gurgling back at her and trying to say the odd word–when she saw me, the baby that is, she started, “Ma ma ma ma,” which she shrieked at me then laughed.

“Oh, Cathy, I didn’t see you there.”

“Thought you might like a cuppa and a chat. Now, what’s bothering you?”

“I’m just tired I suppose–those few days with Julie wore me out and all I did was watch a few children–you were the one being kidnapped and so on.”

“Have the weekend off.”

“But it’s a bank holiday?”

“Yeah, could you come back Monday night?”

“I suppose so. Yeah–course I could–yeah, that’d be good–could go and see me mum.”

“Where does she live?”

“In Kent, near Canterbury.”

“D’you want to borrow the Mondeo?”

“Really?”

“Yeah–though you’ll have to put the juice in.”

“That would be so helpful–I could take her to do a big shop with a car, fill her freezer, you know.”

“Yes, I know."

"That would be brill, Cathy.”

“That’s okay–we rarely appreciate those we respect the most–I’m just trying to show that appreciation for all the hard work you put in.”

“Simon does pay me you know–and above the going rate.”

“I’m sure he must think you’re worth it–I know I do. Now, excuse me, I have another date with Macbeth.”

“Yeah–d’you want me to collect the girls?”

“That would be a help–yes thanks.”

“See I respect you as my boss.”

“Okay–enough of this preening–back to work, slave,” I clapped my hands and Catherine’s bottom lip trembled and she burst into tears. Oh great, just what I needed–why couldn’t I have settled for a kitten instead of all these bloody chidren?

I picked her up and cuddled her, then began to hum a tune and danced about the room–she started to giggle and jabber at me. I carried on and she gave an enormous burp which seemed to originate somewhere down near her toes and rumble all the way to the outside world.

“I beg your pardon,” I said and she giggled again. “Your manners leave a bit to be desired, missy,”–more giggling. Then she burped again and giggled like a demented hyena. “What have you been giving her–lager?” I asked Jenny.

“No–we did have a bit of pop while we were out–but she only had a tiny bit–this one drank most of it,” she indicated Puddin’ who had just come into the room with the remote control for the DVD player. The player is in the sitting room. It doesn’t worry me, I can’t work the bloody thing anyway–I have to get Trish to set to for me if I want to record anything. All the kids can do it, but Trish is a whiz with things electronic–can you have a seven year old geek?

Having calmed down Krakatoa to a few aftershocks, I handed her back to Jenny and returned to the bard. I sat there musing–if I combed my hair straight back and grew a little beard would it be a bard hair day? Answers on a postcard to...

“I’m going to collect the girls–can you watch the two littlies?”

“Yeah–I’ve just about had it anyway–“To be or not to be, that is the question.”

“To be what–oh it’s in Macbeth is it?” she asked pulling on her jacket.

I nearly did a Homer Simpson, but decided it would be insulting to her–she’s here because she’s good with children and supporting prima donnas like me. I don’t pay her for her knowledge of English literature–though she could probably go on Mastermind with her specialised subject–The House at Pooh Corner. Mine would have to be The Gaby Stories, I’ve read them umpteen times–although Trish remembers them better than I do, or maybe the Sherlock Holmes stories–I love them too.

When I went to check on the babies, they were both fast asleep–I checked they were still breathing–they were–thank goodness. I went away with my heart a-flutter and my tummy doing somersaults–phew.

I’d just got back to the kitchen when Danny sloped in, dropped his bag and made straight for the fridge and pulled out a four pint bottle of milk and began drinking it from the bottle.

“I think that would be better from a glass, don’t you?” I said from behind him.

He jumped and sprayed the fridge with milk, blushing profusely. “Mum?” he said turning round.

“Oh dear–looks like someone has some cleaning up to do–doesn’t it?”

“Okay–I’ll get a cloth,” he sighed and went off to the cupboard.