The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1781 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Look here, Lady Cameron, you either do something about this or stop complaining about it.”

“I accept it’s threatening behaviour.”

“It contravenes the telecommunications act,” added the chief inspector. “It’s an offence to send threatening texts.”

“Yes, but if you arrested everyone who did, most of the schools would be half empty.”

“Every year there are one or two school kids, usually girls, who seriously harm themselves or even manage to kill themselves because of bullying by texts and the internet–twitter or facebook.”

“Which is why I’ve told my children, they are not allowed–the internet ones–they have mobiles and use texts, but no facebook or twitter---which I always want to spell with an ‘A’.

“The kids learn how to use the technology in nappies but don’t have the maturity to be safe–look how often they’re groomed by paedophiles without spotting that they’re dealing with adult men, not teenagers. We could do with more controls on the use of the internet.”

“I think there’s too much censorship now. I set the child locks on things and while I know at least one of them is capable of getting round them, she doesn’t because she knows it would upset me.”

“I presume that’s Patricia, is it?”

“Yes, she has an IQ well above the norm.”

“Obviously takes after her m–I mean you.”

“She’s adopted, how can she take after me?”

“Intellect is also to do with environment and the way kids are raised–you’re obviously doing a good job with young Tricia.”

“Trying to keep her safe and occupied is difficult, but I know a bored genius is a dangerous one.”

“She’s that clever, eh?”

“Yes she is. Know many eight year olds who read books about quantum physics?”

“Can’t say I know anyone who reads them.” With that remark the chief inspector of plod, rang off and I was left to cope with the household, albeit a depleted one, although the others would be back at the weekend.

The weather had turned unsettled with enough rain to cause flooding in places and the occasional landslide. Sadly, a month or so ago a couple were caught in a landslide and their car was crushed. They weren’t found by the police for ten days. Thankfully, this was in Dorset not Hampshire, and again in Dorset, a young woman was killed by a cliff fall while walking on the beach. That was again through water undermining the soft sandstone of the cliffs at Charmouth.

I’ve always thought that beaches were dangerous places and that the sea is something to be kept at arm’s length. Not being a particularly good swimmer might skew my feelings to large amounts of water, but I believe we evolved to get out of the water, not go back in it.

Seeing a little of the swimming on the Olympics demonstrated that some people are better equipped than others to move through water–unfortunately, I’m not one of them, and my swimming remains adequate to poor. As for messing about in boats–I’ll leave that to those who like to get wet, I’ll stick to bicycles–though even there, the girls in the road race got a tad damp on the Sunday–it hammered down–I suspect some of the swimmers might have been drier.

“You’ve got a text, Mummy–can I open it?” called Trish as I searched through files for the rest of the data I had on hedgehogs. Someone from the Mammal Society had requested some. Poor little critters are declining rather rapidly.

“Okay,” I called back suddenly thinking what if it’s from Bernadette Watts?

“It’s Daddy, he wants to know if you want a book he’s just seen on badgers?”

“Why would badgers have a book on them? Oh a book about badgers–yes okay.”

“I’ll tell him.” I heard her playing with my Blackberry. A few minutes later it peeped again.

“That him saying he’s got it?” I was still up to my armpits in papers. She didn’t respond at first, “What’s the matter–cat got your tongue?” I glanced up and she was looking at my Blackberry and trembling. I rushed across the room. “What’s the matter, darling?”

She glanced up at me, “It’s her,” she said and I knew exactly who she meant. “I hate her.”

I took the phone off her and cuddled her. “She can’t hurt you, you’re my daughter now, not hers.”

“She said she wants what’s hers back.” Trish managed to get out before dissolving in tears.

I spent the next little while comforting my daughter. Later I glanced at the message. It read, ‘i want wots mine.’

I was tempted to text back something rude, instead I deleted her message. It offended me on several levels, not least that we were talking about children, who are not possessions or chattels. I felt very angry and even considered calling in James to warn her off–but then I was sinking to her level, and so far I had the moral high ground and the police on my side. I accept if I’d agreed to have her hanged drawn and quartered, the police would have approved a great deal more than my rather lenient style. But she was fast approaching the tipping point, and perhaps she should be made aware that reasonable types, become very unreasonable very quickly when provoked sufficiently. I was close to that point.

We ended up having a game on Livvie’s Wii system, playing tennis–I lost–okay, I wasn’t trying too hard to begin with, but as she began to pull away, I did try harder–so did she. Our little Trish is quite the competitor. So am I, when the opportunity arises. I like to win or do my best in most things–bike races, studies–you name it, I can turn it competitive–or I could until the children came to stay and then it all changed–well mostly.

I began to see that I was perpetuating the way I was raised, my dad was very competitive–liked to win the top prize at the Filton & Patchway Horticultural show–and he did most years. I couldn’t compete in sports, I was too puny except for cross country running and I didn’t like that very much. So I began to compete with marks for coursework and at exams–I wasn’t quite top of the class–but I was usually in the top five, and mostly about third.

At uni I really got into bike riding and with a deal of training I began to hold my own and even beat one or two–of the girls. I never did manage to match the way the boys rode, so Cav and Wiggo have nothing to fear from me. I sort of ran out of time and steam at the same moment–then when the kids began to arrive–I discovered that children who never win against their parents, will probably never win period, or become so obsessed with it, that they lose a sense of proportion and become unbalanced. Which is probably fine if you want to win an Olympic Gold on the track but not for everyday mortals like me. I now know what I want from life and contentment is far better in the long run than short term gain.