The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2684 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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Chatting with Carol, the evening flew past. She was up here because her brother lived in Perth, taught at the university but not biology. He was a mathematician. That ensured I didn’t know him, I could count on it—enough of that.

We were staying in different parts of the hotel so we made our goodbyes and I went back up to my room. I looked at the map Sammi had done for me of the reserve, or Catherine Cameron’s Woodland reserve. I couldn’t get over how big three hundred and fifty hectares was. Three hundred and fifty times one thousand square metres—glad I don’t have to cut the grass. The bit I wandered over was only a fraction of it.

There was to be a small visitor centre, but mainly aimed at the serious amateur or professional naturalist not the general public, so it would be used by the university or the local wildlife trust. I might ask to see it tomorrow, assuming it’s been built. I enjoyed my stroll around there today, with one of the locals, I should see quite a few more things and possibly a marten or a wildcat—Felis sylvestris. I went off to sleep in peaceful anticipation.

The next morning, I checked the weather forecast while waiting for the kettle to boil. It promised a fine day. I got ready in my jeans and a polo shirt—the collar if raised helps to keep the sun off my neck—though I did have a hat with me as well. I did my hair in a French plait and after some moisturiser went down for breakfast where I ate two poached eggs on toast. I love eggs and they seem to keep me going all morning where a bowl of cereal wouldn’t; I’d feel hungry by lunch time.

While no one was watching, I grabbed a couple of wholemeal breakfast rolls and two slices of cheese, sliced up some tomato and my lunch was ready. All I needed then was a bottle of water. I wrapped my stolen lunch in a napkin and grabbed a banana on the way out of the dining room. Back in my room, I packed my ill gotten gains in a plastic carrier bag and shoved it all in my rucksack, along with binos and camera.

My meeting was at the university for nine o’clock, so after loading up the car, I drove round to it and was there at ten to. Feeling my first cuppa wanting to seek egress, I asked where the loos were and trotted off. On the way back I overheard a conversation between two or three men—it didn’t impress me.

“What time’s this woman arriving?”

“She’s here already, that’s her Chelsea tractor out the front.”

“Jeez, she must have some money.”

“Well yeah, a bimbo whose daddy in law owns a bank.”

“She’s not is she?”

“Well have you seen anything written by a Cameron in any of the journals?”

“Only that bloke in Canada, you know the wolf man.”

“Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about him. Say, if we see the farmer’s tabby, let’s tell her it’s a wildcat—she won’t know, will she?”

“Nah, and she’ll think we must be pretty good to find one of those for her...” At this point I heard footsteps from behind me so hurried towards my disparaging colleagues. Oh well, bimbodom, here we come—let’s have a bit of fun.”

I introduced myself as Cathy Cameron and giggled far more than I should or would normally do. I asked what we’d be likely to see and Ian, the one who’d told me where the loos were, suggested if we were lucky, we might see golden eagle and possibly goshawk, while it was possible but unlikely we’d see pine marten or wildcats. I looked wide eyed and said I was quite excited. The little smirk that passed between my two guides, wasn’t intended for my eyes but I saw it, so they obviously had very little idea of who I was. I intended to keep it that way until it would cause maximum embarrassment—say at the social, this evening.

We had a nice trip round the reserve in an oldish Land Rover. We did see the farm cat and they played me for a sucker. However, we saw one as well, or I did. Not sure if they actually noticed it. We saw more red deer and most wonderfully, over by the loch we saw an osprey fishing. They tried to tell me it was a golden eagle—yeah, with a white head.

We ate our sandwiches at the visitor centre which was quite remote and they showed me numerous photos they’d taken of various birds and mammals and the odd insect. Sadly, Stuart, the other one was a better photographer than entomologist and he failed to note the difference in different species of butterflies, especially, skippers, which he confused rather badly.

They drove me round the woods for another hour and I suggested I’d had enough, I had but not in the way they were thinking. I was disappointed that we hadn’t met any of the wildlife trust, but was assured the chairman would be there this evening and if necessary, they’d introduce us.

I’d been warned that I’d be expected to speak for the bank, or to reply to the university on behalf of Portsmouth Uni, although it was more a personal thing as the woodland was purchased in my name by the bank. Anyway, we’d been receiving mammal survey records from them for some while, though with the mistakes they’d made on some basic things, siskins are smaller than green finches, they are also quite different in colouring, no one should mistake the two, I was a little concerned about the records they’d submitted, and not just wildcat.

I dressed to the nines, getting my hair done professionally that afternoon, so with a Ralph Lauren top and DK trousers, plus a real pearl necklace and earrings, I felt quite presentable. I’d written my speech such as it was, but I didn’t really need notes, I knew what I was going to say and two people were not going to enjoy it.

The meal was adequate, chicken breast with parma ham wrapped round it, rather than enticing, but it filled a hole and I sat listening to the welcoming speech from the Dean of Science, who kept it short and described me as Lady Cameron, so my two field guides, were sniggering with the other members of their table. I was going to enjoy myself in a few minutes.

It was the short speech from the chair of the wildlife trust who started to cause some red faces on the clown’s table. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance at last, Lady Cameron, though I think most of us have more contact with you in your alter ego, as Dr Cathy Watts, Professor of Biology and Ecology at Portsmouth University, director of the mammal survey, director of environmental affairs at High St Bank plc, film maker and one of the leading experts on dormice in the country. I am honoured that your father in law, Viscount Stanebury, bought this woodland in your name, though sadly there aren’t any dormice up here, though we do have a few nice surprises if you know where to look for them...” he went on for a bit longer and the faces on the other table were now very red and rather quiet.

Then it was my turn and our chair of the wildlife trust forgot something else about me—I’m a feminist, so the two MCPs who’d tried to give me the run around were now on the receiving end.