The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2798 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

---

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.
*****

“Is it true, Professor?”

“What?” I ask, I’m trying to teach the ecology of woodlands and I haven’t said anything remotely controversial—yet.

“That the balls on a woodmouse are the biggest of any rodent?”

“If you’re talking proportionally of organ size to total body size, then yes, they could be.” It wasn’t the first time someone had asked me that and I refused to get embarrassed by it.

“I’m gonna come back as a woodmouse, next time,” said the boy who’d asked.

“Instead of the rat you are currently?” called a girl’s voice from behind him.

This was accompanied by, “Nice one, Sophie,” and lots of laughter.

“Yesterday I was teaching six year olds about the ecology of woodland and they seemed to understand the principles far more quickly than you lot,” I expressed my frustration.

“Please, Miss, may I go to the toilet?” called out the original joker.

“Just make sure you wash your hand afterwards,” I said emphasising a single appendage.

“Don’t you mean hands?” called someone.

“It’s just his left hand he has to wash, talking about woodmouse balls has obviously got him excited.”

He got up and left taking his bag with him, somehow I didn’t think he’d be back today. I’d tell his friend to take two lots of handouts. If one is being heckled, you have to put down the heckler or lose control of the class. If that happens, the rest of them scent blood and you’re as good as dead, academically. I saw it happen once at Sussex, we had a woman lecturer who was actually very good, especially as a tutor, Dr Rose Leeman. Some spotty youth tied her up in knots and she went sick the next day. She actually fled the room and didn’t he think he was clever—total arsehole. He got his comeuppance from another woman teacher who warned him to concentrate his single brain cell on his work rather than being a smart arse or he’d fail. He was sent down after that term for failing to keep up academic standards.

The rest of the class went reasonably well and I went back to my room only to be pushed into it, nearly dropping my laptop. I turned round to see my ambusher, it was the youth who’d left the class.

“Think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you?”

“In comparison to you, probably.” If he sensed weakness I’d be finished, he looked very angry and I had a feeling he might consider rape the only way he could achieve dominance over me. He obviously hadn’t heard that I can usually take care of myself, however, I didn’t want to hurt him or be hurt myself. I’m a professor, let’s talk this down from flashpoint.

I put down my laptop very slowly, he was breathing quite quickly. “Why don’t you sit down and we can discuss this like two adults, or would you prefer to swap insults, bearing in mind I’ve been doing this longer than you.”

“So bloody clever.”

“That’s why I’m the professor and you’re the student, however my job is to educate you not trade one liners.”

“Well you can stick your course as far up your twat as you fucking well like.”

“Getting too hard for you was it?”

“What? I could do it with one fucking arm tied behind my back.”

“That isn’t usually a requirement.”

“Very funny.”

“It wasn’t meant as a joke. I think you’re struggling, on the course I mean.”

“No I’m not, if bloody girls can do it, then I’m sure I can.”

“Prove it.”

“Prove what?”

“That you can complete the course and get a decent degree.”

“Why should I?”

“I think you’re scared of admitting to yourself you can’t cope, aren’t you?”

“Can’t cope, ha—you out of your fucking mind?”

“No, despite the efforts of my students to achieve just that.”

“What?”

“Driving me mad—look if you’re coming here looking for a good row you have to remember what the other person says.”

“You’re so full of shit, aren’t you?”

“You would know, would you?”

“I’m going.” He turned to leave.

“Usually run away when something beats you, do you?”

He turned abruptly, “You what?”

“I said do you usually run away.”

“I’ve a bloody good mind to beat the shit out of you.”

“What would that achieve?”

“I’d feel a whole lot better.”

“Assuming you could, would you—when the police arrested you for assault. It would be the end of your academic career and you’d have a criminal record. Plus I might decide I don’t wish to be assaulted.”

“Like you could stop me.”

“I shall say this once. I have killed before in self defence, I would do it again and you Mr Ramsay, would take less than a minute. Now either sit down or get out, but if you leave this room you leave the course and we don’t refund costs.”

He looked at me slightly differently. “You killed someone?”

“More than once. I’m not proud of it but it was necessary.”

“Jesus, you’re crazy.”

“Crazy and dangerous, so if I were you I’d sit down and tell me what your problems are with the course.”

“Sit down, here, with you?”

“You’re perfectly safe, I never start a fight but I do have a habit of ending them. Sit.”

To my surprise he sat down. I sat down opposite him. “Now, where are you having problems?” We actually discussed the course and my guess was right, he was struggling. I gave him some pointers and told him to book a tutorial session with me at the end of the week.

“Did you really kill someone?”

“Did you honestly think I had?”

“For a moment you had me uncertain.”

“That could have cost you your life in a really dangerous situation. I’m going to tutor you myself, I don’t usually work with anyone at your level on the course, but I want you to prove me wrong, because I don’t think you’re capable of getting a degree.”

“Wanna bet?”

“How much, bearing in mind my husband owns a bank?”

“I dunno...”

“How about if you get anything of a two two or above and I’ll take you and your girlfriend out for a slap up meal to celebrate?”

“And if I don’t—pass.”

“You’ll pay for the rest of your life.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“You’ll regret it for the rest of your life, believe me, you will, because you thought you could do it.”

“You’re inside my head.”

“No, you’re a proud young man, make that pride work for you or better still have it make you work—do something with your life—start it with a degree.”

“I will, dammit, I will.”

“Go on off you go, do some work.”

“Okay—look I’m sorry I pushed you earlier.”

“Did you, I thought I stumbled, these shoes you know.” He smiled at me and left.

“You all right, Professor, I didn’t know if I should have interrupted or got security or what?”

“No, everything is fine but a cuppa would make it feel even better.”