The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1369 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I’d forgotten why Matthew Hines was so popular with cinema goers–he’s actually quite good looking. We were sitting in the church hall attached to the school drinking instant coffee.

“Good to see you again, Cathy.”

“And you too, Matt, how’s Judy?”

“She’s fine–she sends her love.”

“Please say hi from me to her, won’t you?”

“Sure.” He sipped his coffee, “Learned all your lines?” he asked.

“Of course,” I lied, but I was well into completing them, “You have I expect, being the professional.”

“Um–not quite, sometimes I think I’d like to be a steward or something–with no lines. I mean, I haven’t tried to learn Shakespeare since I was at school–and then the only reason I did, was to avoid detention. I can do, ‘To be or not to be,’ but I haven’t got that far yet.”

“Right people, can we get seated and start the first read through?” Gordon Rashley began to assert his authority as director. “Cue Banquo and Macbeth–witches get ready–from the top...”

Gee whizz that man is a slave driver, I’d listened to my MP3 almost up until we started and I tuned into Morag’s accent, which I was using as Gruoch–Lady Macbeth to you. I hoped Gordon would be impressed–he wisnae, tha scunner.

He told me that we’d just concentrate on getting the lines out and then look at how we might tweak them. “After all, darling, if you’re the only one talking like a Scot, the others are going to look pretty stupid.”

I hadn’t thought of it like that–and with half a dozen sixth formers involved–it could be difficult.

The time table–a couple of days of readings–then we move to rehearsals–with or without scripts–which is when the detail starts to get added, along with movement and props/sets.

Crikey, sets? I thought we were doing a bit of a Shakespearean thing–minimal everything–apparently not–some scenery firm from Pinewood or Elstree had offered its services, free, gratis and for nowt. Can’t wait for the DVD to come out–sheesh–this is getting heavy.

We read the play twice right through–I wasn’t enjoying it very much–Gordon kept picking on me, or so it seemed. When we stopped for lunch, I sat chatting with Matthew.

“So how is baby Emily?”

“Grows more beautiful every day,” he said in a voice which showed he was smitten with her. “Pity the little tyke doesn’t sleep at night–just wants to party.”

“Yeah–know the feeling–but at least it’s not your chest she’ll be trying to suck off your body.”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” he mused, “that sounds like the voice of experience.”

“I wasn’t always a D cup.”

He fixed his gaze on my chest–“Pity,” he sighed and went back to his lunch.

Thirty six D–geez, when I was about fifteen, if you’d told me I’d be breast feeding and with ’normous knockers, I’d have laughed at you while hoping it was true. Now it is true, it’s a total pain. Men never look at my face–unless they’re gay or old–and women snort–I’ve still got a reasonably small waist–twenty four inches to be exact, and a thirty six hips. Simon teases me, saying I’ve got a D cup arse as well, but he likes to fondle it well enough in bed. Mind you, I don’t object.

“Simon and I wondered if you’d like to come over for dinner one night, with Judy of course.”

“Don’t see why not–have to confer with the boss of course. D’you have any date in mind?”

“Next Saturday?”

“Can’t think of any reason why not, but I don’t have my diary with me–I’ll get back to you tomorrow if that’s okay?”

“Fine, I just thought it might be nice to see Judy again, and little Emily.”

“Oh, we gotta bring the baby then?”

“It’s not compulsory–but that’s up to Judy.”

“Yeah, okay.”

We did more reading in the afternoon session–Gordon really is a slave driver, but Matt got more of his spleen after lunch. The girls playing the witches were very good, though if I hear, ‘Bubble bubble,’ once more I think I’ll scream. Mind you, they probably think the same about my stuff.

Lady Macbeth is one of the best female characters in Shakespeare–some suggest he didn’t like women too much, but I suspect he was just being a bloke-albeit a very clever one–assuming he did actually write them–but I won’t open that particular can of worms.

I was exhausted by the time we finished at four, and I’d had to phone Jenny to collect the girls–I could hardly say I wanted to finish now, could I? I’m supposed to be the female lead–which has a certain irony still as it did when I was fifteen or sixteen. Anyway, no one seems to have rumbled me from that viewpoint–though the tabloids might when we get started–or am I just old news?

They didn’t do too much when I did the TV programme–you know the dormouse film–in fact they were describing me as sexy–not exactly the most endearing term for an academic–but better than dowdy or ugly, I suppose.

“Mummy, can we do a ride?” Trish seemed to be the spokesperson while Billie stood behind nodding.

“When, darling?” I asked hoping it wasn’t Saturday evening.

“Now–before dinner.”

“Now? I’ve got to get dinner, sweetheart, it doesn’t make itself.”

“Daddy’s bringing in pizzas.”

“Since when?”

“He said so this morning, and I checked with him this afters, since we got home.”

“And he still is?”

“Oh yes, ’cos I asked him to get lots of ham and cheese on mine.”

“Oh, okay–I’d better get changed and you lot had better do so too.”

Danny opted to come as well, so it was only Livvie and Meems of the riding fraternity who declined–and Jenny had Meems helping her feed Catherine whilst Livvie looked after Puddin’–yeah little potty mouth.

We all set off on mountain bikes and went up the cycle path then back through the woods where I’d lost Trish that day, and subsequently where the deer had died. There was nothing of a carcass left behind–nature had cleaned up in its own inimitable fashion–for which I was grateful.

Mind you a dead badger smelt as high as a British Rail pork pie, when we sped past it. It felt quite good to be off-roading again, I did do a little when I was younger, although to get the best out of it on a rough track full sus might be helpful.

I did a couple of bunny hops–I was wearing cycling shoes with SPDs, the others were riding with ordinary pedals–having said that, Danny matched me for jumps, and Trish had to try and keep up with us, although she didn’t like jumping very much.

I called Danny to stop, I’d thought she was right behind us. I leant against a tree, my feet still stuck to my pedals, straining to turn round and call her. We waited a couple of minutes and she still hadn’t arrived. I went from warm and sweaty to cold and shivering in a millisecond–something must have happened. Oh shit.