The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2074 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I sat in my office eating my sandwich with occasional swigs of water. I considered the morning had gone well and the bunch of oldies seemed quite pleased with things.

My phone peeped and I had a text from my colleague to say the oldies wanted me to lead another trip they enjoyed it so much. I sent one back saying I’d have to check it against my other commitments.

The next thing was a call from Alan saying he’d found us a nice site for harvest mice in Sussex and to be free in the next week to discuss a shooting schedule and script. I hadn’t actually forgotten about it, but then again I hadn’t quite remembered it either. I felt like running away, I’ll bet Obama doesn’t have as busy a schedule as I do and he has dozens of flunkies to help. Maybe if Hillary doesn’t run next time, I will. I laughed at the absurdity of my thought. To start with, I wasn’t born in America so wouldn’t be eligible anyway. Secondly, after all the spying on everyone scandal, would anyone want the job?

Then again, the British secret service viz GCHQ didn’t come out smelling of roses either. The sad thing is I’m not surprised by any of it. The French and the Germans can shout shock horror, but they’re all doing it. Even Tesco has a data base on half the population of the UK. They know what sort of stuff I buy and in what quantity, so they must either think I’m forty stone or have loads of children.

Loyalty cards tell them loads about us and they can surmise even more from it. You don’t need to spy, people will tell loads about themselves both deliberately and unwittingly–just look at facebook if you don’t believe me. It also shows half the population of the developed world is self-absorbed and naíve more worried about how many friends they have on fB than the realities of life. I suspect the cult of the narcissist is growing exponentially.

I looked at my diary, quite how I was going to see Alan next week, I wasn’t sure. While I was thinking about it, he called and asked if the greenhouse was still available for filming. I told him it was, but what we were going to use for corn I had no idea. He told me he had that all arranged. We’d discuss the details on the weekend if that was okay, he’d come down on Saturday.

I didn’t have the heart to say I didn’t really have the time, Phoebe needed to spend more time at the salon because it counted towards her course credits and she quite enjoyed being with Julie. So if Jacquie wanted time off, I was snookered–stuck with Neal’s baby and Alan. If we stuck a false nose on her, could we pass Lizzie off as a harvest mouse? Nah, she’s slightly too big.

I quit the office and popped into Tesco on the way home to fill up my car and get a few things we needed. David might do most of the domestic purchasing, but he doesn’t know we need more hand-washing soap in the cloakroom or the bathrooms. I still do that. Usually I buy a case of the stuff at a time, but now and again I want something different, just for a change.

The few items ended up costing about forty pounds, so I upped the list a little and bought a few bottles of wine which meant I got discount on the fuel after spending fifty quid on groceries. As my tank was nearly empty; I spent over eighty on fuel but I got about three pounds off with the voucher. Okay, it’s an illusion, I had to spend another ten pounds to get the discount which meant they won by about seven pounds, but the wine will keep for a bit and will be drunk eventually. I know it’s all a big con, but I allowed myself to be conned this time. Then again, considering that about eighty percent of the cost of petrol or diesel is tax, the government are bigger conmen than the bosses of Tesco.

Tom collected the girls so I could mosey home at my own speed. I got there about half an hour after he did. I’d fed the dormice before leaving as our new technician, Emma, needed a day off to go to a funeral–one of her mates from Southampton drove his car up a tree. Apparently the tree came off best.

The children made a fuss of me, so did Tom when he saw I’d bought one of his favourite wines. “Are we hae’in’ this f’ dinner, hen?”

“I don’t know what David’s made for dinner.”

“It’s a mutton casserole,” offered Jacquie, "" She opened the slow oven and the aroma filled the kitchen, I nodded my agreement. Mutton isn’t very fashionable these days, but it can be very tasty meat, and with David cooking it, I knew it would be superb. “He’ll be back to sort the vegetables at six,” Jacquie added, and I nodded twice. Once when she told me that and the other when she asked if I wanted tea. Is the Pope a Catholic?

While she made tea I collected Lizzie from the recliner–one of these bouncy things I bought for Puddin’ originally but it’s been used by all the babies since, and now little Lizzie. I offered her my breast and she clamped on like a spacecraft docking on the space station. By the time I’d drunk my tea, she’d practically sucked my boob inside out. I began to wonder if Neal’s surname should be Dyson.

I switched breasts–well, I actually placed the baby to my other breast not moved my breasts back and fore, but you get my meaning anyway. While she was hoovering up the milk from that one, Cate and Fiona appeared, playing with some of my mutant dormice soft toys and giggling like mad. They obviously saw how absurd the toys were compared to the real thing. They giggled some more but thankfully didn’t ask to suck on my breast–last time Cate saw Lizzie feeding she threw a tantrum when I had none left over for her. I’ve tried drinking more water since to up my levels enough to keep her happy. I feel guilty because I don’t spend as much time with her as I should.

I asked Jacquie if she’d be available for the weekend, as Alan was coming down and she said she was and that she’d be happy to look after the little ones. When I consider how that girl suffered because of the accident with her neighbour’s kid because she was so good with the children and they loved her.

David came by to finish the dinner and cook the vegetables. While he was doing so, I left Jacquie to change the baby as I trotted up to take a shower and change into something a bit tidier than camo trousers.

I sent off my photos of the polecat to the records people at the Mammal Society and also our own survey team. I’d made a note on the data base I’d set up for the reserve as well.

Later that night when Simon was taking something to the compost heap he dashed back in because he’d spotted hedgehogs in the garden. I went out with him and we had a mother and two juveniles exploring the orchard for food. You can see why they call them hogs, they make snorting noises while they’re searching with their noses like pigs do, only obviously rather more quietly than their porcine namesakes.

Simon put his arm round my waist as we stood watching the family of insectivores ‘doing’ the orchard and pulled me close. We kissed and I felt all goosebumps with the chill of the night air and my love for him. He noticed me shiver and we went back indoors and up to bed.