The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1494 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Did they hang draw and quarter him?” asked Simon when he got home.

“Who?”

“The juvenile car carver.”

“Eh?”

“The child who messed up your paintwork.”

“Piggy Hoggett, you mean.”

“Is that his name?”

“No it’s worse, it’s Peregrine Hoggett.”

“Perhaps his father was a bird watcher?”

“Or hoped he’d be a wanderer.”

“Is that what peregrine means?”

“Sort of, I think it means foreigner in Latin, but I can’t actually remember.”

“Isn’t that what Welsh means?”

“Foreigner? Yes–ironic or what that it’s what the Saxons who were foreign called the locals.”

“Mind you the English have been making the locals feel like foreigners in their own country for a very long time.”

“Only because they had the back up of the largest navy in the then world. I hope the Chinese have forgotten we overran them back in the nineteenth century, we certainly couldn’t do it now.”

“Not without aircraft carriers.”

“We’ll have some in ten years.”

“And planes on ’em ten years after that.” Simon raised his eyebrows then added, “So what about Piggy?”

I related the unhelpful headmaster and how he changed his mind after he discovered the carving on the front of his desk. He snorted then chuckled, “What is it with this kid, has he got a death wish?”

“I don’t know about that, but he seems to do it without any thought, so it must be some sort of compulsion.”

“Kilroy wasn’t here,” he said and smirked at his own joke.

“I don’t know what will happen to him but I suspect he needs help and a good bath, or at least a change of clothing.”

“A bit aromatic was he?”

“If you could imagine something dead in a warm room for a few days–you’d get an idea–if you did chemistry–think Butyric acid–it’s what puts the zing in rancid butter.”

“Wonderful." He said pulling a face.

"We used to call chemistry–pongs.” I beamed.

“Now why doesn’t that surprise me–you didn't call, biology–bugs, did you?”

“No, the true bugs are the hemiptera.”

“Look, little miss education, can’t you forget you’re a teacher for a moment?”

“Sorry, but I’ve been writing lesson plans and sorting notes for my courses.”

“I see and still in teacher mode?”

“Maybe–I haven’t done any classification for years, so quite how I remembered hemiptera, goodness only knows.”

“Did you remember it correctly, though?”

“Of course.”

“Did you check that after parking the car that it wasn’t vandalised by the compulsive...”

“I think repulsive is more appropriate.”

“Impulsive, compulsive, repulsive–let’s call the whole thing off.” Simon began to sing.

“I thought that was about the solanaceae.”

“The what?”

“You know...”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking, would I?” Simon was pouting. Just then Trish walked by, “Hey, Trish, what’s the solar what?”

“Solanaceae,” I repeated.

“Potatoes,” she said hugging Simon, then went off to do whatever she was doing before.

“She right?” he asked.

“It’s a bit more than potatoes and tomatoes, nightshades, thorn apple and several other plants.”

“So how come we can eat potatoes but not deadly nightshade?”

“Because belladonna is poisonous and spuds aren’t?”

“Beautiful lady, is that what they call deadly nightshade?”

“Full name is Atropus belladonna.”

“Atrocious belladonna?”

“No Atropus–it’s a source of atropine and allegedly women in days gone by used to put a drop in their eyes to dilate their pupils and make themselves supposedly more attractive.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d look more beautiful if you were spaced out?”

“Spaced out? It’s an alkaloid poison, given enough, I’d be laid out.”

“Don’t they use it in medicine?”

“Si, I’m a biologist not a quack, but yes they do use it to do something with slow heartbeat, it’s anticholinergic drug, so it has an effect on acetylcholine receptors.”

“Exactly my point, so if it gets in your carburettor, you’re stuffed–what’s for dinner? You notice how subtly I changed the subject there because I could see you were struggling to keep up with me.”

I was lost for words, I’d even forgotten what we were having for dinner despite cooking it. “I’ve forgotten.”

“See you meet a dominant intellect and you completely lose the plot.”

“Possibly, fortunately Trish doesn’t compete with me that often so I can get by.”

“Trish? It’s me who’s overwhelmed you this time by Socratic questioning and other clever strategies.”

“Since when has Socratic questioning meant asking a silly question?”

“Why is that your first?” he fired back at me.

I surrendered, I didn’t have time to waste in idle banter–it wouldn’t be so bad if we did it while we worked, but we don’t, he does it while I work. Seems a little unfair–I blame his parents–dropping him on his head while watching Monty Python. I checked the dinner, the lamb casserole–more of the recent lorry load of dead sheep we received–was doing fine.

“No solar panels in there is there?”

“What is so difficult about solanaceae?”

“Eating them raw?”

I shook my head, I wasn’t sure what medication he appeared to be on but he was obviously in a good mood. “Why are you in such a frivolous mood?”

“I won the lottery.”

“What the hundred and one million pounds?”

“No, a tenner.”

“You’re feeling good because you won ten pounds?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Why? Simon, you’re a millionaire, what difference does ten pounds make?”

“I knew you wouldn’t understand, it’s all about principle.”

“But you’re a banker, you don’t have any?”

“Now you cut me to the quick, I’m haemorrhaging liquid gold here, you know?”

“Sure, go and change and leave the quick-fire jokes in the shower will you?”

“Now, I’m mortally wounded.”

“If you die while you’re up there you won’t get any dinner.”

“That’s right, add insult to injury, I suppose that means dessert is also out if I croak?”

“Not necessarily, but how do we insert banana split into your alimentary system–oh, I have an idea,” I said this with a gleam in my eye.

“Don’t you dare even think of it.”

“You’re a banana-phobe, aren’t you?”

“Only when we consider insertions other than oral.”

“Were we?” I acted innocent.

“Oh, you weren’t then?”

“Does it matter, the ice cream would ease things either way.”

“How d’you know?”

“Um, it was a guess–an anal-ytic one.”

“Very funny, I’m going to shower.” He stumped off which he does once I start punning back. Oh well, it gets very boring very quickly.

We ate and were talking afterwards when the door bell rang. “Mummy, there’s an old lady at the door.”

“Who?” I mouthed back at Livvie.

“The old lady who hit your car, I think,” she said very quietly.

“What does she want?” I asked out loud.

“Go and see and you might find out.” Simon was keeping his distance, so much for offering to protect me.

“Ah, Mrs Cameron, sorry to disturb you but I was coming to see about arranging to pay for your car–though I admit nothing–this is a goodwill gesture.”

I almost punched the air in triumph but something held me back. “Okay,” I paused.

“Unfortunately, I seem to have bumped one of your cars again.”

“Which one?” I gasped hoping it was the Mondeo–just for a change.

“Um–the Jaguar, I think.”

“Not my car again?” I gasped.

“Is yours a Jaguar, no it was the other one.” I heard Simon groan behind me.