The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1422 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I was already in bed when Simon emerged from the bathroom having completed his ablutions–brushing his doodahs and flossing his wotsits–or perhaps it was the other way round–who cares.

He got into bed and looked at the crossword I was doing in the Guardian. I’d had to steal it back from Daddy’s study, where it had probably been since breakfast. I rarely get to see it even though I pay for it, albeit with those token things, so I do get a discount.

“Four across, is passage,” he said and handed me back the newspaper. I looked at the clue and he was probably right, it certainly fit ‘Extract from voyage (7).’

“Um–I think you’re probably right.”

“Probably–probably? Of course I’m right–I always am–it’s just that usually you refuse to acknowledge it.”

“Well I’m acknowledging it now, both with the clue and our weekend. That was fantastic–the kids loved it and so did I. Thank you, darling.” I kissed him on the cheek.

“Is that all I get, a peck on the cheek?”

“Why, what else would you like, my lord and master?” I said coyly and laid down on my back.”

“Um–what’s on offer, then?” he said chucking the paper off the bed and tickling my breast through my nightdress.”

We kissed and his hand moved lower stroking my leg. “Fortune favours the brave,” he said quietly.

“Only if they have good counsel, preferably Queen’s variety,” I cautioned.

“Yeah, with you about it’s trying to decide what’s brave and what’s suicidal,”

“You make me sound like some sort of hazard.”

“Um–yeah, death-trap variety.”

“Oh wonderful, now I’m a danger to humanity.”

“No, Cathy, just to individuals–that lunatic in Norway was a danger to humanity, can you imagine how crazy he must have been to cold bloodedly kill seventy odd people?”

“Si, I don’t mind which we do, discourse or intercourse but not both.”

“Oh right–right, lie back and think of England.”

“Why?”

“Well they beat India, didn’t they.”

“Did they,” I yawned.

“I thought you liked cricket?”

“I do sometimes; I thought you liked sex?”

“Instead of cricket–that’s a tough one, Cathy.”

I closed my eyes and my legs and pretended to be asleep.

“Can I bowl a maiden over?”

“Didn’t know you knew any,”

“It was figurative.”

“Don’t do numbers.”

“That’s not true is it, you crunch numbers for the survey all the time.”

“I’ve got a computer program that does all that–I’m practically innumerate.”

“Huh, the way you were adding up all the points in the sprinter’s competition and working out time differences of the different riders, enumerate may be more applicable than innumerate.”

“So you’ve got my number have you?”

“I think so, missus.”

“Well if you don’t climb this mountain soon, I’m going to deem you out of time and have to disqualify you.”

“But you can’t, I’m at least fifty percent of the field, let alone the peloton.”

“Ah, but I’m the referee,” I poked out my tongue and he began to tickle me. One of the things I cannot deal with is tickling–I hate it so much I’d agree to anything to stop it–I shrieked at him to stop but he continued and I ended up wetting the bed. I couldn’t help it–I lost control–I did try to tell him.

So the upshot was instead of him having his oats, he helped me strip and remake the bed, after which both of us had gone off the idea and he agreed he’d get his oats tomorrow–courtesy of Scott’s Porage.

I thanked him again for taking us to France and after kissing him I turned over and went to sleep–I was exhausted.

I awoke the next morning having a really strange dream. I was in a French hotel–not the one we’d stayed in–and I couldn’t find the toilet. No one I saw could speak English or understand my schoolgirl French and I began to feel close to tears, when I pushed open a door which was a toilet–the gents. I didn’t care, I ran in and squatted down backwards over the urinal and was just about to wee when the radio came on and I managed to stop myself, jumping out of bed and rushing to the bathroom.

At least I didn’t have any dreams about Old Testament goddesses; that really would have finished me off. I showered and went down to make Simon’s porridge, it wasn’t Scott’s it was Jordans’ organic oats or whatever–and he ate them with salt, I prefer mine with sugar. Usually, I don’t bother–I prefer cornflakes–but I had some today as I was making some for my lord and master, it seemed like a good idea.

He sat eating his while I sprinkled sugar on mine and then chopped up a banana and mixed that in as well. “I don’t know how you eat it like that?”

“Likewise,” I quipped back.

“I used to eat it like that when I was a kid, but when I grew up I...”

“Put away childish things,” I offered finishing a mangled quote from St Paul.

“You what?”

“When I became a man, I put away childish things.”

“You’re not a man,” he grumped at me.

“I know I’m not–probably better than any living soul–I was quoting St Paul.”

“What for?”

“Because what you said reminded me of his epistle to the Corinthians–‘When I was a child, I thought like a child,’ and so on.”

“Oh–yeah–’course.” His answer suggested he’d known all along what I was saying which was patently untrue, but I chose not to challenge it. I’d had a lovely weekend and I wasn’t going to spoil it for a silly argument.

He finished his breakfast and kissed me before leaving for work. I was starting to clear up when Daddy appeared. He looked in the pot–there was probably a portion of porridge left. He asked if he could have it and I warmed it up for him, he added salt as well instead of sugar–perhaps I was the odd one out? Don’t answer that–I suppose it could be a man thing–nah, it was a Scottish thing–okay, so I should eat it the same, but I prefer my porridge sweet not savoury–and with real cream–yummy.

I sat talking with Daddy until I heard the patter of tiny hooves–it was Danny. “Catherine’s crying,” he mumbled.

“Well why didn’t you pick her up?”

“I can’t feed her can I?”

“No, but you could have brought her down to me.”

“Yeah, I s’pose–’cept she’s all wet and smelly.”

“So were you once upon a time–in fact, after you’ve been playing soccer–you still are.” I chuckled at his discomfort so did Daddy.

“Don’t you laugh, too, Gramps, you’ll only encourage her.”

“Och, she needs nae encouragement frae me, dae ye, hen?”

“Probably not, Daddy.”

“I’m awa’ tae ma office–I’m oot th’ nicht.”

“Oh yes, the Dean’s dinner group–okay, have a good time and behave yourself,” last year he fell asleep during the speeches and landed up with his face in his dessert. I told him he’d get his just deserts–it wasn’t quite how I was expecting it to happen.