The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1790 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Fixed it?” asked David.

“Yeah, he’s gone off to see his friends, so he’ll probably be late coming home for lunch.”

“That’s okay, it’s something I can keep hot without spoiling it.”

“What’s that then?” I was intrigued.

“Wait and see.” David dismissed me. With my tail between my legs I went up and checked out the children’s wardrobes for the new term. I knew Danny needed two new pairs of trousers and his blazer also looked a bit ropy, they’d all need to have their feet measured and be shod for the winter. I checked the girl’s school uniforms, hopefully they’d need minimal stuff, although Trish had grown a little when she started the oestrogen–in height.

I called her in, she was playing in the garden with Livvie and Mima and made her try on several items. They fitted well enough for now. I sent her back out and asked her to send in one of the others.

By the time I’d checked out the other two girls, we decided all that was needed were shoes, some more socks and panties. None of the girls were needing bras and I decided that I wasn’t going down that road until they started sprouting. Training bras for the sake of it strikes me as pretty stupid–after all, once they start wearing the horrible things–they won’t stop until the lid goes on the box.

I pulled at my own bra, where it had ridden up under my breasts with me stretching and bending. I’m a little too well endowed nowadays to go without one, and it’s now a fact of life–at times a nuisance one–they get very sweaty when it’s hot. At one point in my development as a female, I couldn’t wait to wear one every day. I suppose it’s an item which is almost exclusively female–I say almost because a year or two ago, there was a fad in Japan, a country which seems strange at the best of times, for men to wear a man-bra. Why, I have no idea–but then I don’t understand anyone wanting to eat whale meat either.

Just then a crazy image formed in my mind of a Japanese Captain Ahab character wearing his man-bra and matching thong, throwing the harpoon at Moby Dick. As Moby Dick was in this image a mechanical device controlled by Sea Shepherd, I knew he was safe from the predatory oriental.

I stripped Trish’s, Daddy’s bed and my own and took the linen down to the machine, having remade the beds while I was upstairs. The other adults are expected to do their own, and in the case of the girls, I make them wash and iron them too. It might seem sexist, but it’s also good training. Danny I make help with chores occasionally too, especially if he annoys me and he volunteers if he’s after something.

At midday I called the girls in to wash their hands, as David had told me he was ready to dish up. It smelt wonderful–but then it often does when someone else has cooked it.

It transpired that he’d made fishcakes which we were going to eat with salad and fresh bread rolls he’d baked that morning–none of the bread machine stuff for him–he’d made them in the oven and that was what I could smell.

The fishcakes were made with the leftovers of the smoked haddock he’d used in the paella, and they were delicious. Sometimes fishcakes are a touch insipid so need strong flavoured fish to be really successful and the herbs and seasonings were just right.

Everyone ate up every last bit and I had to dissuade Si from eating Danny’s, which he spotted in the cool oven in the Aga. We’d just finished when in rolled Danny. He looked to have some bruising on his face–again.

I got rid of the others and spoke with him alone as he ate. “Are you getting another black eye?”

“Dunno–could be, banged my face on the handlebars of my bike.”

“How did you manage that?” I knew it was possible, usually when bending down to get something off the ground that’s lying under the bike or near it.

“I bent down and didn’t see the bar end.”

“So it wasn’t fighting?”

“No–I don’t fight unless I have to.”

“Okay–enjoying your lunch?”

“’S okay,” he replied laconically.

I find it harder and harder to get him to say very much–which I think is a thing about adolescent boys–and when they do say anything it’s growled or garbled. Suddenly he began to tell me a tale...

“You’ll never guess what Richard had for his birthday?”

“I have no idea,” I confessed.

“He’s got one of those remote controlled helicopter things–absolutely brill.”

“Did you have a go at it–controlling it I mean?”

“Oh yeah, only a little go but it was enough to know they’re great.”

“Oh well, speak nicely to your father and he might get you one for Christmas.” Did I just say, ‘Christmas’? Bloody hell, it’s only August. What am I thinking about.

“Hey, that’s a great idea, Mum.” I noted that we were using the more grown up form of address in recent days although the girls, even those his senior like to use the more juvenile form of Mummy, unless they’re telling me off then it’s mum, as one would expect because they’re acting as adults.

“Never mind toys...”

“It’s not a toy, Mum, it’s a model–it’s all working too.”

“If he plays with it, it’s a toy or a game. Anyway, we need to get you some more trousers for school, so I suggest you go and get yourself tidied up and we’ll sort that now while your dad’s here to watch the girls. We’ll take Catherine with us because I want her feet measured. What are your shoes like?”

“Black with laces,” he retorted probably in response to my demoting his wonder helicopter to toy status.

“Do you need new ones for school?”

“I dunno, do I?”

“Right, c’mon upstairs. Let’s go and see.” We did and he did–I wasn’t really surprised, he plays football in them, climbs trees and performs other acts of violence to shoes. He changed into his clean jeans while I got Catherine ready to go out in her pushchair–she can walk a bit, but she’s a little slow when time is of the essence.

I warned Stella where we were going and she promised to tell Simon, with that we were off, Catherine singing ten green bottles in the back of the car–or her version of it. I have strong doubts that it will ever make it as a cover version and by the time we were parked at Gun Wharf Quay for the shopping, I was closer to strangling her for giving me a headache than congratulating her for her choral prowess. Danny wasn’t too happy with the noise either, and he was using his iPod.

We got the trousers which he wasn’t very happy at having to try on–how did he think we’d fit them? Then a few pairs of underpants and socks, two new school shirts and the blazer I knew needed replacing. At the shoe shop, he again played up until he spotted across the way in the shopping mall, a model shop and the very model of helicopter his mate had. I made him wait until Catherine had been measured and fitted for new shoes before we strolled over to view his latest must have object.

I was pleasantly surprised that they were available for under fifty pounds, though suspected like so many of these things, you tend to get what you pay for.

“What d’ya think, Mum?” his nose was pressed up against the window.

“You’ve got enough in your account to buy one if you wanted to, or you can wait until Christmas and see if your dad buys you one,” I watched him drooling at the thing in the shop before adding, “I suspect if you wait until Christmas, Daddy will buy you a nicer one than that.” I’d make sure of it but the choice was his.

“Really–a betterer one than Richard’s got.”

At times I despaired at his murder of simple words; “A better one, yes but for Christmas, or you can buy one yourself now but the cheaper one. Up to you, but we have to go home very soon.”

To his credit, although it was obviously tearing him in two, he opted for the buying power of his dad and I felt very proud of him.