The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1837 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Simon had gone off to sleep half an hour ago, and here I was half past twelve still torturing myself. Is this something that we who come to womanhood by a different path constantly do? Because we’re not bio-females usually, we always have a chip on our shoulders about it. Why am I worrying about this now–I don’t know. It seems to go with the territory.

I’m legally a woman, female what have you. I’m married to a lovely man whom I worship–but don’t tell him that. I can’t have babies of my own, but I’ve adopted several of the nicest kids I’ll ever meet. To my astonishment, because one reads or hears so many stories of adopted children having awful problems when they find out and some going really off the rails, mine seem to be normal children–except two of the girls appear to be much cleverer than normal, with Trish in particular being super bright.

I also have an infant, from someone who gave up her own life, or so it felt, for me to have the experience of motherhood without the painfully messy bit. I then spontaneously began lactating, something which not many in my position have the chance to do. So I’ve had the privilege of breastfeeding.

I’ve been able to pursue my delight–the ecology of dormice–which I hope has helped some of the little critters survive by publicising their difficulties. I’ve made a film and it was well received. I’ve also helped put together the mammal survey and overseen it. So far that’s been well received and should land me a doctorate as well, something I’ve wanted almost as much as to be a mother.

So why am feeling as if I’m a fraud or second class? I’ve achieved more than many of my contemporaries, and they have wombs and ovaries. If they’re lucky they get to marry the man of their dreams and have a family, I’ve done that too, but got a title thrown in as the offer of the week. In a couple of months, I could be, Doctor, the Lady Cameron. Crazy isn’t it, but I still can’t just get on with my life being me. I have to touch my past perhaps because I can’t believe I’ve really got where I am. What if it’s all just a dream and I wake up dying in the hedgerow with Stella standing over me making silly noises? It will have been one hell of a dream.

I must have slept shortly after that because the next thing is it’s Monday morning and I’m getting the girls up for school after washing my hair. After I drop them off, I’m going to Gun Wharf Quay to do some early Christmas shopping, so I’m going to have a day off.

I have no idea what to buy anyone. They have what they want for the most part, Livvie was talking about learning to play the flute in school and I think Trish would like to learn the piano, so one of those electronic keyboards which mimic just about everything in the orchestra should be up her street.

I’m going to get Si an iPad, because I think he’d enjoy having it. Danny is going to have a new mobile phone, one of these with the touch screen things. Trish likes her Blackberry and so does Livvie. Crazy isn’t it? They’re eight years old and have a better phone than I did until I was twenty odd.

Stella and the older girls could be a problem, Julie would like clothes, so a cheque or voucher could be good. Stella–what d’you give a woman who has everything except a husband? I wish I knew.

I got the girls to school and off they went and I set off for the shops and inspiration. Much of the stuff I’d considered I can get cheaper on the internet, and although I don’t get to see it, I have a good idea what it’s all about. I might also treat myself to a new outfit for my viva interview–yeah, that might be nice.

I navigated my way to the shopping area–the posher one in Portsmouth and parked the car. I decide that three hours would be enough for now. I get fed up after that unless I’m in a bookshop or a bike shop. I decided, I was going nowhere near the latter.

Locking the car I set off on foot for the shops, with a fold up cloth bag in my handbag–the handles are more comfortable than carrier bags, not that I was sure I’d be buying much but you never know.

In one of the department stores I found a lovely blouse and in another franchise on the same floor discovered a suit which I thought would go with it nicely. After trying them I coughed up and bought them, a silk blouse and a silk and wool suit, not too bad for six hundred–euros that is, five hundred quid. The colour–the blouse is an ivory colour and the suit a dark red. All I need now is some new shoes and a bag, both of which I found half an hour later. I stopped for a latte coffee and cake and got back to the business of serious shopping.

Despite all of the walking I did, I found nothing I was certain would be of use to the others. I had some ideas, but that was it, I needed to do some market research on them without the others working out what I was asking them, or why I was asking them.

Danny did go on about one of those remote helicopters, but does he want one now, is the imponderable. I saw the time and set off back to the car.

I was loading my stuff in the boot of the Jag, when I heard raised voices from across the way. A woman seemed to be arguing with two men. I took a picture on my phone, it wasn’t the clearest I’d taken, but it did show what was happening or appeared to be. The voices became louder and I could almost hear what they were saying. I stood and watched transfixed by the drama. One of the men hit her and I shook myself out of my little trance.

In response the woman screamed at the man who hit her and flew at his face, he pulled back yelling in pain as she clawed his face–I winced in sympathy. The second man hit her and she staggered back. I think he must have punched her.

A family appeared walking past and the bloke asked if she was alright. The two men threatened him and he and his wife and perhaps her mother walked on quickly. I dialled triple nine, only to discover I couldn’t get a signal on my phone. Now what do I do?

The voices were now staccato, and it looked to be leading to further violence. I couldn’t stand there and let them hurt her whatever the problem was. I dumped everything except my car key in the boot and shut it quietly. Then I walked almost silently towards the trio who had begun to shout, mostly insults.

I saw a flash of light, one of them had a blade–one of the men–he was going to cut her. I ran back to my car threw open the boot and grabbed the wheel brace, slammed down the bootlid and ran towards the three–the woman was squealing as one of the men held her and the other advanced towards her with the knife.

“Look out,” yelled his partner just as I ran at them and he spun round and I had a good look at the knife–it looked dangerous until I swung the brace and knocked it from his hand and broke his thumb at the same time. He yelled and drew back. His friend now advanced, throwing the woman down as he did so. I saw her run off–great–just what I needed. I suppose it was too late just to talk to them about going home.

How come I always seem to get myself into these situations?