The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1483 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I’d wasted a whole morning talking with a mad woman, so I adjourned to make some lunch–it was early, but it would mean I’d have an hour or two to work on my introduction to ecology lecture.

“When are you going to recruit some more help?” asked Stella as we munched our mousetrap and salad baguettes.

“I can only do one thing at a time, Stella.”

“Don’t tell the boys that, they think we multitask all the time.”

“It’s a fallacy, no one can do more than one thing at a time and do it properly.”

“Of course it is, but you know what men are like–a bit thick in the brain department.”

“I know someone who’s looking for work,” said Jenny helping herself to another cherry tomato.

“Tell me about them,” I said as she hadn’t identified them as man or woman. It was probably the latter, but you never know.

“Her name’s Keira.”

“Oh I did enjoy her in Pirates of the Caribbean,” chuckled Stella.

“I don’t think it’s likely to be Miss Knightley,” I suggested.

“Um–no, her name is Keira...”

“Dayley,” interrupted Stella who laughed and nearly choked on her roll.

“Very good, Stella, but no–she’s Keira Wolsey.”

“No relation to Cardinal?” Stella had the bit between her teeth–I just hoped she didn’t swallow it.

Jenny looked blankly back at her. “Henry VIII’s chancellor,” I advised although I’m not sure it helped very much.

“Wasn’t he the bloke with all the wives?”

“Divorced, executed, died, divorced, executed, died–after outliving him.”

“Wot?” gasped Jenny.

“The six wives, Catharine of Aragon–was divorced.”

“Anne Boleyn met the executioner,” I added.

“Jane Seymour died...” said Stella.

“In childbirth,” I finished.

“You two know lots, don’t you?”

“So does everyone–it’s only important if it’s useful–usually it isn’t.”

“Anne of Cleves–divorced,” continued Stella.

“Catherine Howard–executed,” I said showing I knew some history as well.

“Catherine Parr outlived him.”

“Lots of Catherines,” observed Jenny–so would you have been his seventh?” she laughed looking at me.

“I don’t think so–can’t think the Pope would have allowed a marriage to me, somehow.”

“Well weren’t there stories that Elizabeth was a boy?” Jenny was obviously into the alternative history market.

“There are always stories about individuals who are slightly different, especially when that individual is as important as Elizabeth was–but there was something on the radio the other day about her being paired up with some French prince who was into cross-dressing or his friends were but they fell out over religion–he was staunch Catholic and she was a real Protestant. But what stuck in my mind was that for entertainment, they built a bonfire and threw a bag of live cats into it.”

“Oh that’s sick,” said Jenny looking mortified.

“Makes television seem an improvement,” considered Stella.

“We seem to have gone off the point somewhat, Jenny, about your friend Keira?”

“Oh yeah, what d’you want to know?”

“Her experience with children, education, ability to work on her own and so on.”

“She’s like twenty three, used to be a nursery nurse but gave it up when one of the kids in her group got meningitis and died.”

“I can understand that,” said Stella.

“She’s done bits an’ pieces since, like shop work but she don’t like it too much and it pays pretty crap.”

“Ask her if she’d like to come for an interview–oh, and she has to be accepting of transgender children.”

“Oh she knows about you, including the dormouse tricks on the net, an’ she’s okay about it. I think she said she thought you were pretty brave to do what you done, and especially adoptin’ some tranny kids–most people wouldn’t have done it. She thinks you’re pretty kewl.”

“It’s more support for the house than a fan club I’m looking for, Jenny, but give her a call sometime and we’ll give her an interview.” I looked at Stella who nodded. “If she can produce some references it would be good and because I’m entrusting my children to her, I’ll require a CRB check.”

“She’ll have had one from the nursery,” said Jenny.

“We’ll need a new one, because it’s a different job and there’s a gap in between.”

Jenny pouted at me thinking I was using overkill. “Look, Jenny, there’s been several instances of paedophiles getting jobs in nurseries and teaching in the last year or two. I love my children, so I’m insisting upon the check being made before she works here–I’ll pay for it, or refund it quite happily.”

“But they can take months.”

“I think they can be hurried a little if the start date is given.”

“Oh, anyway, I’ll give her a ring.”

“Thank you–now I need to start doing this introductory lecture–what joy.” I returned to my study with a cup of tea and blank piece of paper. The phone rang as I started brainstorming–I decided to ignore it.”

“Cathy, it’s Mr Darnley, about your car.”

“Gosh, that’s quick,” I said to myself as I picked up the phone. “Hello, Mr Darnley.”

“Mrs Cameron, it’ll be a couple of days while we finish the painting–needs a couple of coats at least and we let them harden for a day before we do a second.”

“I thought that cellulose paint dried very quickly,” I was obviously labouring under a misapprehension.

“I’ve been doing this job for thirty years, Mrs Cameron, I know a bit about it by now.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you were wrong, I just thought it dried like nail varnish.”

“Yeah, but according to my missus, nail varnish chips off–my paintwork doesn’t.”

“Fine, I believe you, Mr Darnley, I really do.”

“I was ringing because some reporter guy was asking questions about the car.”

“Oh, that’s interesting–did he say why?”

“He said that there were rumours that some rich bloke was terrorising some poor retired teacher about it, even though she’s completely innocent.”

“Don’t tell me, it was the Mail?”

“I think so, what’s going on?”

“Simon is trying to make her insurance pay for the repairs you’re doing, or at least that’s what he told me. She of course refuses to acknowledge that she’s responsible–but believe me–she is. I have it on film from the supermarket car park of her hitting my car and then parking alongside, opening the door onto mine and then getting back into her car and leaving without so much as a how d’ya do.”

“That would explain the line we had to rub down–her door–she should have some paint on her door edge.”

“She’s stirring up a hornet’s nest is she?”

“Looks like it, thought I’d best warn you–she sounds a right old nutter.”

“She is, she spent an hour preaching to me over the phone this morning.”

“Like that is she, hypocrite, I mean.”

“She is the epitome of bigotry, if they could pack it, she’d be a bigot in a bottle.”

He laughed at my fantasy. “I’ll ring in a couple of days, she should be ready then.”

“Thanks for seeing off the press, she’s a total lunatic as we’ll prove when we get to the courts.”

That was all I needed, the press poking about–let’s face it, they’d have a field-day. Transsexual mother adopts seven children after marrying wealthy banker. Three of the children end up having sex-change hormones and or surgery. She and some of the children have magical healing powers, she makes film about dormice and plays part of Lady Macbeth opposite Hollywood heart throb. I think there’s enough there to keep even the Daily Wail busy for a few days. I’ll have to warn the children and the others to be on their guard.

Sometimes I despise all this apparent interest I seem able to generate in tabloids, and sometimes I just hate it.