The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2509 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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Sitting with a cuppa while the girls did their homework enabled me to reflect again, obviously I needed to prioritise. My mind however came back to Danni and the possibility of selection for a national side, albeit, a schoolgirl one. I was of the opinion she was good enough to play for them, it was when and if we disclosed her little anomaly, a y-chromosome.

According to Jason, if she has legal status as female, she should be treated as such by the FA. However, if it was disclosed and she was sidelined, we’d find it difficult to prove that it was due to her gender problem. She’s been taking oestrogens for some time, so just by looking, no one would ever know, she’s just a skinny girl with legs that go on forever.

David came to ask me when to serve dinner and interrupted my musing. I asked him for half an hour as Tom would be home and so would Julie and Phoebe. He said that was fine, he’d done a sweet and sour pork for everyone except me, I can’t stand it, so I got straight pork chop with rice and some gravy. He spoils me, but then I pay his bonus at Christmas.

I dealt with some emails for Delia, she reminded me I was teaching again tomorrow morning and I also had a tutorial—a group one with some final year students, plus a meeting in the afternoon with the dean and vice chancellor. I wasn’t sure what that was all about—teaching fees, I think. Personally, I think education should be free up to degree level. However, I’d do away with quite a few subjects—what exactly is media studies—watching the X-Factor or Downton Abbey and discerning they are total excrement.

The dinner gong rang and I went to eat. There was the usual behaviours over the meal, at least one person complaining because I had something different and they’d have liked the same—except when David and I discussed the menu, they’d all said they liked sweet and sour pork. So it was only I who said no and David offered to make gravy for me and I had that instead. When he does curry, he does the same or I get something myself, like a microwaved jacket spud or scrambled egg. I can survive on a snack meal, though I try to ensure the children get a reasonable breakfast and dinner. None of them look overweight, so I suspect between us we’re doing all right.

I do ask the convent girls what they had for lunch and as most of the food they offer is pretty healthy, they seem to be okay—so far at any rate. I pay monthly for them to have a lunch and as they’re not supposed to leave the school unless they go home for lunch, they are likely to eat something.

Simon arrived on his own, Sammi was using his flat—she’s in love again. It usually ends in tears—but then, she’s effectively ten years emotionally younger than her physical age simply because of changing over. Unless they grow up as girls, dealing with relationships has to be learnt or experienced. In some ways she’s in a similar position to Danni, who is also exploring relationships. Sadly, she’s had to start again since she moved schools and changed her appearance, which is probably just as well as many of the kids in her previous school were hooligans at best, gangsters at worst.

The rest of them had finished by the time Si came home, so I sat and drank a cuppa while he ate, then Mima came to cuddle with her dad. She’s a real daddy’s girl with Cate possibly another one. She comes for a cuddle with him if she’s still up when he gets home and certainly at weekends she does it.

The only problem with one or two of the girls sitting in with us is, being able to talk without being eavesdropped. That means we have to wait until they’re in bed or we are.

“Are you working your birthday?” he asked.

“Bugger, what date is it?”

“December the first, so your birthday is the day after tomorrow.”

“I’ll be working, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t apologise, so will I and I’m not sure when I’ll finish. Some Chinese businessmen want to invest in some British companies, providing this nonsense over Hong Kong means they don’t sulk and go elsewhere.”

“I thought you were retail?”

“My division is, yes, but if we’re talking enough dosh, I am asked to become involved, given my experience, they usually request it. Pisses off the old man, something chronic.”

I cautioned him on his use of language and half expected him to say something very sarcastic or angry but he didn’t, he understood that if he was careless with inappropriate words, he’d likely get them repeated back to him at breakfast or when the vicar comes to visit—not very often, I told him we were Darwinites. He told me I didn’t sound very Australian.

The conversation was a bit stilted because I was trying to repair one of the kid’s bikes and it wasn’t going to plan, I kept dropping little tiny screws or ball bearings and was swearing loudly when he knocked on the door of my workshop and asked if he could help. I enquired how much he knew about bottom brackets, and his response was, “I don’t think my bum has a bracket unless it’s really well hidden.” At least he had a sense of humour, he’d need it working in Portsmouth.

I told him my god was science. So he asked if I was a Christian scientist, which I thought he meant was I a Christian who is also a scientist or t’other way round. I told him I was a scientist, full stop, and agnostic at that. He shrugged and exclaimed that he couldn’t win ’em all, but we knew where he lived if we needed him. I assured him we wouldn’t.

He did continue to call because he said he liked my tea. My tea, it was Lady Grey, so hardly mine, but I did make it for him, insofar as boiling water and pouring it on the aforementioned tealeaves. It was then when we discussed my worship of evolution and he tried to convince me of its divine design and operation. I demolished his arguments although he’d probably suggest it was the other way round, so we agreed to differ. He told me he’d pray for me and I thanked him.

The godbotherers I couldn’t cope with were the JWs who have to do so much missionary work, as they see it. I refuse to talk to them now and just ask them to leave. The proffer leaflets and I refuse. They go and I get my knickers untwisted again, often by that time I have to deal with one of the kids or some other pressing matter, like the ironing. Once I told the kids that they didn’t celebrate Christmas so we were going to join them to save money—they all cried and wouldn’t talk to me for the rest of the day.