Yet more police and a flying pig!

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad & Bonzi Kiddle.
part 9 to 5.

The police had surrounded the house and were calling me through megaphones to come out with my hands up or they'd have to come and get me. I knew that would mean tear gas and dogs being sent in. I shouted back that if they did, I would rip pages out of the book. They were after me because my library book was overdue and I'd avoided paying my bus fare coming back from the library.

While they were deciding what to do, I was busy looking for a toilet. It wasn't my house or my parents, it was one with loads of rooms and none of them seemed to be bathrooms or toilets. I was getting desperate and even a kitchen would do, I could pee in the sink. Then I looked down and someone had stolen my penis, I looked again. I was a girl. Damn, I couldn't do it in a sink. I started running through the house, all the while hearing the sound of an approaching helicopter getting louder. I was getting more and more desperate to pee...

...Then I woke up, I could hear sound of a helicopter overhead and for a moment wondered what day it was, then the urge to micturate took precedence and I ran or stumbled to the toilet.

Once safely seated, I tried to make out what all that dream was about the detail was already fading fast. I remembered that it involved the police, a helicopter and a toilet. All of those were easy enough to link to recent events. The helicopter being an involvement of a real thing in my dream, as was the need to pee.

It was about three in the morning, I gazed out the window and saw the police helicopter hovering over something about half a mile away. Probably a stolen car or joy riders. I rushed to the front of the house and checked mine was still there, it was. Then I started thinking about my bike and having to deal with the insurance company and felt wide awake. Time for a cuppa.

The copper chopper, aka 'The Flying Pig' was still buzzing around and at one point seemd to be directly overhead. That spooked me a bit. If they were chasing someone on foot, I hoped he wouldn't come near me. I quickly checked all the windows and doors. By that time the kettle had boiled and I could have a cup of tea, after which everything would feel better! Ha ha!

I'd just sat down with my tea when I heard dogs barking and the helicopter was still very close. The hairs on the back of my neck were now on end. What if the miscreant they were chasing got into our shed? Or was hiding around the back of the house! I could feel my stomach churning as if it worked for a butter company, and I was becoming increasingly anxious.

Why? I was safely locked in my castle and the power of the state was out there searching for the offender. So why was I so nervous? I was getting so girly, it was ridiculous. Then I thought of the bastard or bastards who took my bike and the fear turned to anger. I rose from the table and at first went to the knife block and pulled out a great blade. Then thinking about it, put it back and went to the kitchen cupboard and picked up a piece of hickory, which was designed as a pick-axe handle, but my dad was using for something else. It was only about two feet long, but made an ideal club. I swung it around a few times and felt happy with its weight and grip. Bring it on, I thought to myself.

I drank me tea and bearing my club went upstairs. I was probably about as dangerous as a rice pudding, but I felt more confident with my deadly blunt instrument. I watched out of the front bedroom window as the chopper circled around seeking its prey with image intensifiers and infra red equipment. I knew a bit about those, because I used them finding my 'prey' my beautiful dormice. Zoology is increasingly high tech, but because it is, we get results now about things which previous generations could only guess at. We've come a long way since the Rev. Gilbert White wrote a treatise on Selborne and his suspicions that swallows hibernated in the mud under ponds. His 'Natural History and Antiquities Of Selborne' is still worth a read as a classic of a then scientific study, it was 1789 after all.

I think it must have been after five before I went back to sleep, I might have been better staying up because I awoke with a start. Then realised it wasn't the sound of someone breaking in, but the sound of a phone ringing.

I staggered down the stairs nearly slipping, and picked up the offending instrument. "Hello?" I said half yawning.

"Hello Sweetheart, how are you this fine morning?"

"Simon, you woke me up," I yawned at him.

"Sorry love, I just thought you might be interested in the serial number of your bike."

I yawned again, then said, " How did you manage that?"

"I have spoken with our friendly bike shop man."

"What time is it?" I asked yawning again.

"Nine thirty, why?"

"Crikey, I overslept courtesy of the local plod and their helicopter."

"Woke you up did it?"

"Didn't it just, then proceeded to keep me in a state of alertness for a further two hours."

"Joy riders I expect."

"Round here, I doubt it. This is blue rinse territory."

"So when do you go for yours?"

"You cheeky bugger," I chided him.

We chatted for a few minutes more before he gave me the required number and once more I needed to go to the toilet. Thankfully he'd rung off before I made it known or he would really be wondering about me.

After showering and dressing I had breakfast and called the insurance. I quoted as much as I could, I didn't have my policy number but explained why and the woman I spoke to got it from the computer.

"Was it locked?"

"Yes it was locked to the bike rack."

"Did you find the remains of the broken lock or chain?"

"No, I don't know how they got the bike off because the rack was still there, on the car." We talked a bit longer, and I was able to give them the police incident report number. That seemed to make it all much easier. She would send me a claim form and upon receipt, things would take a month or so. Seemed reasonable given they would check a few details, I was asking for a claim of over three grand, not fifty quid for an old clunker.

"Keep an eye on eBay, they sometimes turn up there."

"Yes, the police said the same."

"It's too good for a car boot and bona fide bike shops would do checks with the police unless they knew the seller."

"So what chance do you think I have of getting it back?" I asked hoping there was a chance.

"About zero." My heart sank.

It was still in my boots when I made some cakes for my dad. I was going to do him some fairy cakes, then thought better of it. Instead I did some rock cakes and I also made some vegetable soup and put some of that in a container for him. There was a slight chance he would eat it.

By the time I'd made the soup it was lunch time so I ate a portion myself with a roll and set off for the hospital. The sister on the ward microwaved it for him and I'd taken a soup dish just in case, so I was able to get him to eat some. He was disgusted that I hadn't made the roll as well.

"I haven't got time Daddy, besides I'd need one of those breadmaking machines."

" Vvvv..et un."

"Get one?" I checked and he nodded, "What a breadmaker?"

" '..Es, vvvet un."

"All right, I'll see if I have enough money to get one," whereupon he told me to take more from the bank.

That wasn't the entire problem, telling him I wasn't his cook and housekeeper was, which I didn't have the courage to broach. It was also made harder by him reminding me to take the thousand towards a new bike. I was in a real turmoil then.