The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2530 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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We read the invitation together, it required Danielle to be at the Madejski Stadium, the home of Reading FC. They have a successful ladies team and they would be helping to coach and select the best candidates. The letter reminded us that this was a soccer training camp with a view to spotting future England ladies players and guaranteed nothing other than a chance to move on to the next stage. It was for the weekend twenty seventh and eighth of December, commencing at ten o’clock. Then there was a list of things to take with them, plus casual clothes. It cost one hundred pounds for board and lodgings, which included all refreshments during the day as well. Those in hardship could apply for a grant and so on.

I made sure that she understood the reality. It wasn’t an England training camp, but one run by coaches who if she was good enough would move her on to the next level. I pointed out that there may be several of those before an England cap arose. She said she understood but I wasn’t sure had, she was too excited. Oh to be young and optimistic.

I helped her pack and then made lunch while she tried to clear some of the mess in her bedroom. I brought her bag downstairs while she shovelled stuff into black bin bags. Lunch was soup and rolls and it went down well. The weather was wet but it promised to be cold but dry for the weekend, at least in the south, snow was forecast further north. Thankfully, that meant the Midlands northwards, so Reading should stay clear, though with our luck, it probably wouldn’t.

I checked that Danni had packed football boots and trainers, some shirts, shorts and socks, plus enough panties to last the weekend. I also packed some chocolate, crisps and apples. The letter I made her place in her handbag, which was a backpack type.

The rest of the day flew by and I agreed with Si that I’d take her but he would collect her on Sunday evening at six. How Danni or I slept, I’ll never know—possibly through exhaustion—but I woke in plenty of time to have a reasonable breakfast before driving north to Reading.

Allowing plenty of time, we set off westwards along the M27 to the M3 junction at Eastleigh. We followed the motorway and its increasing traffic to Basingstoke, where we took the A33 up to Reading passing the M4 a mile after which we turned off to the Madejski Stadium, the home of Reading FC. Despite the heavy traffic, presumably caused by looters—sorry bargain hunters going to the sales. I can’t stand the crowds and being alternately obstructed and bustled by complete strangers who have few if any manners and even fewer functioning brain cells.

I appreciate I’m able to afford all I need so sales are somewhat irrelevant to me. I know the girls like them, getting a bargain seems to be almost part of the British psyche or is that just the Scot in them? Um, I keep forgetting they’re not my natural children but ones we’ve chosen to live with us or who needed us.

After parking the car and helping her with her bag, I accompanied Danni to the registration point under the stadium. I’d forgotten how big some of these places are, with all sorts of facilities as well as the main football pitch and spectator seating, of which they claimed 21,000 seats. I declined to count them.

We checked her name off the list and she was given card with her name on which she had to produce for everything, the classes and her hotel, so not to lose it. I suggested nailing it to her head—although she’d probably call us tomorrow and say she’d lost that as well.

She was nearly in tears when she kissed me goodbye, she was excited but scared to death. I surreptitiously surrounded her in blue stuff, wished her a great weekend, asked her to behave but also to enjoy herself and do her best. If she did that, win or lose, she’d have tried and had some fun. It would also be something to tell her school mates and her sisters, who were all excited for her.

I managed to buy a cuppa before heading back to Portsmouth. The journey back was awful. People were either shopping or returning home from their Christmas holidays and consequently it was like an all day rush hour. It took two and a half hours to get home. David had done jacket spuds so kept me one in the cool oven of the Aga which I filled with tuna, some mayonnaise and some salad—I’m consistent in some areas. Washed down I felt fit for...running away to sleep? I got nabbed by various children, some might even have been my own—two of them had friends in, who were apparently gobsmacked to see me breastfeeding in my own kitchen without my boob being covered up. Everything is so sanitised these days and it is my house, so I’ll do what I deem acceptable.

At dinner we all talked about our missing athlete hoping she was having a good time. I got a text soon after telling me she thought it was, ‘totally brill.’ So that’s okay.

On Saturday night I lay there worrying about her while Simon tuned his jet engine. Quite how he can sleep almost anywhere at any time, baffles me and that’s with me admitting to being an obsessional neurotic, nah, I just worry a little bit—like all night on a bad day—eh? I know what I mean, I think—do I care? Obviously.

On the Sunday, I did the Observer cryptic crossword before the others got up—it was six o’clock and I couldn’t sleep any longer, I was so worried about Danni. She looked so young compared to some of the other girls—some of them had tattoos—on an under fifteen training camp?

Having flagellated my remaining conscious brain cell with the crossword, I had to do it on line as the paper doesn’t usually appear until mid-morning on a Sunday, and I felt like going back to bed. Instead, I’d agreed to take the three mouseketeers for a bike ride—yeah, I know—it’s white with frost outside and we’ll probably need some sort of device to repel polar bears.

Listening to the news—it was Christmas—a passenger jet was missing, there was a fire on a ferry somewhere near Italy, and thousands of people were trapped in snow in the Alps—duh—like you wouldn’t really expect snow at a mountain ski resort in winter, would you? Are people worldwide stupid? It would appear so, some being dumber than others.

The girls must have woken and realised I was up as they came rushing downstairs like two legged avalanches, reminding me I’d promised to take them riding. They obviously hadn’t seen the frost or hadn’t recognised how it can make roads icy and slippery. The first time you lose your back wheel and get deposited on a cold and very hard road surface—you remember and then try to avoid it ever after—except you never do.