The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2748 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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229 dozen for our dodecaphiles.
Danielle hadn’t played for a couple of weeks which I hoped wouldn’t cause her to become injured. She was playing at Basildon on Sunday and then again on Wednesday in London at Queen’s Park Rangers, so it would be a week or so before she actually debuted at Portsmouth’s own stadium, Fratton Park; where the ladies would now play their home games.

She’d had a couple of muscle injuries which had kept her out of the team for the past month and was looking forward to getting in amongst the goals and possibly winning promotion from the Women’s Premier League—Southern division to the Super League and regaining her England place. Sadly, although the FA are signed up to an equality and diversity policy regarding transgender players, it remains to be seen in Danielle gets picked to play again since this latest resurgence in interest by the gutter press. It’s a crying shame that it’s of any interest even to the most prurient of their readers and it’s also one that the official body, the Football Association, can’t just say, ‘so what’ to any questions. But then, many of us still live in the Middle Ages, especially those cursed by religiosity.

The following day, after our confrontation with the nasty little man in the dirty raincoat, I took her to school as normal and as far as I know, nothing out of the ordinary happened. After seeing all the girls into school I drove on to the university and a meeting with the finance department and my capitulation to the probable raising of student fees next term. It really grieves me that we’ve gone down this route with all the bullshit it contains about graduates earning so much more than non university educated people. Tell that to Richard Branston. However, it’s probably true that graduates do earn more eventually, and men still earn more than women graduates. All equal in the eyes of God eh? Yeah sure.

I came out of the meeting feeling like I’d betrayed my students but I had no choice, the whole university was for it, or so the finance department claimed. I muttered loudly as they packed up their files, ‘We no longer educate the young, we sell them degrees.’ I got back a counter asking if I’d prefer we went broke instead. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it, so I said nothing. I just feel sorry for those youngsters who have to mortgage their future to try and get a toe on the ladder. I also know loads of undergrads do subjects they enjoy but are unable to find work in the same field and end up in offices or shops or flipping burgers—with increasing debts to finish their courses. Imagine you’ve just graduated with an honours degree in something and still full of the triumph of completing a three or four year course with consequent huge student debt only to find the only jobs available are in a nationally run burger franchise which will never enable you to repay the debt or get out of the rut it creates.

My kids will be fortunate because they’ll have their fees paid for them by us along with everything else providing they maintain certain standards of behaviour and academic effort. The big worry will be Trish, she’ll be intellectually capable of university within a couple of years but will she cope emotionally? I really don’t know. Nor do I know what to do about it yet. See, money can’t buy you everything.

I had an email from the head coach at Portsmouth Ladies and his tone suggested he wasn’t impressed by the support of the FA towards transgender women players. Seems it’s easier to sign up to platitudes than it is to make them real protocols—I might have to get Jason to encourage them in his own inimitable way and to point out that Danni meets all the requirements to be considered eligible to play for her nation as a female. Another headache to deal with—why can’t life just play fair now and again.

“When I got home that evening, relaxing because it looked as if the story featuring Danni had died a death when Helen met me at the kitchen door to tell me she thought the washing machine had gone phutt. When I examined said machine, it sort of confirmed the diagnosis—I spent half the evening finding a replacement. Getting it delivered was another chore which I’m sure shouldn’t have been. It was also four hundred quid I could have spent on new uniforms for Danielle, who seems to have grown a bit since I bought the first ones.

The next thing, a note from the plumber, who thinks he can come when he likes to service the boiler. I gave Helen cart blanche to organise the visit when she’s available and a blank cheque to get a new one if necessary, not that I really wanted that sort of expense just now. We’ll need another commercial sized one and they don’t come cheaply.

I explained to Sister Maria about Danielle’s trip to play football and she was concerned that the trip plus a full day in school might be too much for Danni to cope with. Danni shrugged it off saying she’d cope, except I know on Thursday it’ll be difficult to get her up. At least they go by coach and I’ll collect her from the ground when they get back—so two of us will be yawning. Si can collect her on Sunday when they get back I’ll have things to prepare for the girls for Monday and we can pretend they have two parents. Okay, he’s not that bad but he doesn’t do as much as he might and I don’t want to be seen to be nagging him all the time.

At least the weather looks to be improving, had some really heavy showers today but the weekend is supposed to be better—I might even get a ride in if I organise things properly—have to see what everybody else is doing or go off early before they get up. Poo, it looks as if it might be foggy first thing—blessed weather.