The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1827 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“I knew you’d cooked the pie, all along,” Si said when were in bed

“Huh, a likely tale,” I said in disbelief.

“I did, and I can prove it.”

“Go on then.”

“You have longer hair than David,” he said and smirked.

“Are you telling me you discovered one of my hairs in your dinner?”

“I am now, yeah.”

“Which could have fallen in while I was dishing up.”

“Unlikely.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“It was in the fish bit at the bottom.”

“Oh; oh well, one good thing.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“It’s all protein,” I smirked.

“Gee thanks, it’s not digestible, so how can it be protein?”

“Not all protein is digestible without altering it by cooking or treating some other way. You can eat meat raw, and apart from the infection risk, you can only get about a quarter of the benefit from it that you would from cooking it first.”

“You’re a mass of information, aren’t you?” he said stroking my hand.

“Yep, push the button, get a lecture.”

“What if I push this button,” he said and gently prodded my nipple. I chuckled then moaned when he repeated the exercise a few more times. “Perhaps the machine is broken, maybe I’ll try this one,” he gently prodded my other breast and once again caused me to moan gently–it was rather nice. “Um–no lecture, I think I’d better check in case the buttons are faulty. So saying he pulled up my nightgown and pushed his head underneath it and within a few minutes I was a mere blob of jelly as he sucked and chewed on my sensitive nipples.

“Um,” he said from under my nightie, “I think this needs more exploration, possibly the mechanism is broken down here and he slipped his hand into my panties...

Some twenty or thirty minutes later, we both lay very still in exhaustion. I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears and my body felt warm and slightly sweaty. I looked at the clock, it was midnight. I needed a shower. I left Simon on the bed–semi-comatose–his normal state in bed, and went for a shower. It was half past when I got back into bed, having quickly dried my hair and pulled on a fresh nightie and panties. Simon was fast asleep, facing away from me and naked as the day he was born.

I eased him under the duvet and covered him up, then snuggled in behind him. We soon warmed up, though he did jump a little when I put my cold hands on his tummy, but didn’t wake up.

Saturday, I awoke to the sun streaming through the window–the forecast had said this would be the better day of the weekend, so I was determined to do something with the girls. Si and Tom had said they’d go and watch Danny playing football, and if Stella or Jacquie watched the little ones, I could take the others out, perhaps for a bike ride or something.

I got up and after a little wash and damping down my hair–it was standing up on the side on which I’d been lying–I dressed and found myself escorted down the stairs by three girls, all of whom were dressed in jeans and tops with sweaters or a cardi on top of that. It was a sure sign that temperatures were falling and we’d soon need to put the heating back on.

Once I roused Danny and Simon, we had breakfast and stripped the bed while Si was in the shower. The girls seemed happy to get their bikes out, and for a change I got out my old mountain bike so it meant I could ride in a pair of jeans. It took a while to check tyres, do some pumping, check brakes–Trish’s needed some adjustment–and get the girls organised to ride. Livvie couldn’t find her helmet and no one is allowed to ride without wearing one–my rules not the law.

I know the jury is out on the efficacy of cycling helmets and in some collisions they could make things worse, however, if you aren’t wearing one and someone does knock you off your bike, their counsel and insurance company might try to claim that not wearing one is tantamount to contributory negligence. It isn’t worth the risk, although I felt a right Nellie riding in one in jeans and hiking type jacket. I did have cycling shoes on because I have clipless pedals on all my bikes, not that we were going far, but the proper shoes are more comfortable.

We rode for half an hour, which at Meem’s pace, meant we’d got to the end of the drive–nah, we’d done about three miles. They’ve done ten before, but that was a while ago, so I decided another mile and we’d turn back for home.

“Isn’t that David’s car?” asked Trish, who seems to miss very little. She pointed to two cars which were parked in a lay-by. Two men were obviously having a heated discussion and gesticulating wildly when the other one hit David and he fell backwards onto the ground.

Unable to contain myself, I shouted and called the girls to follow as I sped down towards the lay-by. The man jumped into his car and drove off, I approached David and bent down to see if he was all right. He was sitting on the ground and it sounded as if he was crying.

He was surprised to see us, though he let me help him up, and accepted the tissue I handed him. “Can we talk about this later?” he asked as the girls approached. I nodded.

“Why did that man hit you?” asked Trish, always direct.

“I don’t know,” said David.

“Did you get his number?” she continued.

“No,” was his reply.

“Good job I did then,” she stated, and showed a video of what happened on her phone. Next was a clear picture of the car driving off and the number visible. Sometimes she’s too clever for her own good–today might prove the rule.

After a drink of water, David declared himself fit to drive home and left us to cycle back along the path, me fending off questions about why people hit each other. I did try to point out that the girls did do it to each other, but that boys were more likely to, though I couldn’t say whether it was nature or nurture. If there are girls around it causes young men to secrete more testosterone which means they take more risks and also become more aggressive. Trish wasn’t impressed by my inconclusiveness and kept reminding me I was a biologist and should know these things. In return I tried to explain this was much more the realm of psychologists or behaviourists, and that I was only interested for two reasons or two cases. First, if the intended recipient of any such aggression is me–then I want written notice so I can run away; second, if it happens in dormice, I want to know and quickly.

“Now, I don’t want any of you asking David awkward questions–understood?”

“Can we ask him easy ones?” asked Trish who I felt was building up to a big debate on this.

“No, don’t ask him any questions at all–okay?”

The response was moans and groans.