The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2807 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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“So what was wrong with being respected for what you’ve done?” stated Simon as we cuddled down in bed together.

“Nothing I suppose.”

“So why all the embarrassment?”

“I can’t help it, I don’t cope well with praise.”

“Or rejection, if my memory serves me right.”

“Does anybody?” I threw back, I knew he didn’t.

“I don’t but then I’m used to having my own way.”

“Are you? Gosh, I hadn’t noticed.” I said and he tickled me until I begged him to stop. “That was mean,” I said when he stopped.

“What stopping?”

“No, tickling me, you know I hate it.”

“Almost as much as praise.”

“I thought we’d discussed that.”

“We discussed tonight’s aversion, what about the two heroism awards you turned down?” I didn’t know he knew about those.

“What about them?”

“Why did you turn them down?”

“Because I didn’t want them—good enough?”

“Even though it enables people in the community to see your example as a role model.”

“What doing things to get awards?”

“No, doing things because they needed to be done at that instant.”

“So why is that worthy of an award?”

“Because you forsook your own safety to rescue someone else.”

“So? We’ve all done things like that at times.”

“We haven’t all crawled into a burning car to rescue a baby without knowing if we’d ever get out alive.”

“I wouldn’t have if that chap hadn’t pulled me out—he was the real hero, not me. I risked my life on an impulse.”

“To save a baby.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Only a woman would do that.”

“Rubbish, fire fighters do it all the time.”

“It’s their job, they’re trained for it and have the equipment to minimise risk to them and the people they’re trying to help. What equipment and training did you have?”

“See rank amateur, risking other people’s lives—I’m dangerous, not a hero.”

“Is that why Meredith sends you a Christmas card every year but you hide them.”

“It’s a free country she can send cards to whoever she likes.”

“Do you acknowledge them—I doubt it.”

“Actually, I do.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Does she ever say she wants to come and see you?”

“Not any more.”

“But she used to?”

“For a couple of years—for an infant she had remarkably good handwriting.”

“What? You are crazy sometimes, wife.”

“Like when I said I do to you?”

“It wasn’t to me, it was to Marguerite.”

“I could have sworn it was you I married...”

“Very funny—not.”

“Look, I need to go to sleep, I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

“I have one of those every day,” he quipped back.

“Sorry, I forgot that housework and child care don’t count as they’re hobbies of mine.”

“Quite, so stop whingeing.”

“Sorry, oh lord and master.” He suddenly moved his hand to cover his genitals. “What are you doing?” I asked feeling his hand rubbing my bum.

“Protecting my assets.”

“As if...”

“Cathy, if skin wasn’t so elastic my scrotum would be down round my ankles you’ve yanked on it so often.”

“My own little woodmouse.”

“What?”

“The male woodmouse has proportionally the largest scrotum in the UK mammal population.”

“Really, so it should be built like a wood mouse not a stallion?”

I felt myself growing warm, “Um I doubt a woodmouse is quite as impressive as a horse.”

“But you said they were impressive...”

“How can something that weighs about a hundred grams be compared to something completely different that weighs about half a ton.”

“Just imagine the tackle on a half ton woodmouse...”

A surreal image flashed into my mind and I shuddered.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“I just imagined a half ton woodmouse.” There was a pause as he contemplated what I’d said, then he roared with laughter. Well if he roared anything else he’d frighten the children and possibly the dormice.

Eventually I slipped off to sleep with him still holding me and thankfully didn’t dream of any half ton woodmice with bits of them dragging on the ground. In the morning, I awoke alone as Simon had gone off to work, astonished that I hadn’t heard him rise or leave. Usually I hear or feel him going or hear the car, this morning I heard nothing. I must have been really fast asleep. Thank goodness the house didn’t catch fire or anything else happen.

Tonight I would start writing my Christmas cards—what a chore that is. This morning I’d be writing one to each of the universities that helps us with the survey, another chore but one which I hope reminds them to send us records. Sometimes indirect reminders work best. Diane will address and stamp them with a message thanking them for their assistance and I’ll sign them. The survey pays the postage, which increases every year.

The other chores were agreeing the guidelines for exam questions with the rest of my staff, including a marking protocol for each type of question. Student course work including any laboratory work is similarly agreed. This ensures everyone knows what is going on and that students will be informed accordingly. It also costs me a few quid for mince pies. We used to get them made by the refectory staff now it’s easier to buy them from a supermarket—I bought them in Lidl’s on the way in.

Once that was over it was avoid lunch with Daddy as I had tutorials to do and a disciplinary to conduct—my least favourite activity. A student had been accused of submitting a dissertation which was in a large part copied from someone else’s. We don’t mind them copying the odd paragraph as long as it’s acknowledged, for the purpose of supporting a view or demonstrating one. When it’s claimed to be an original piece of work and clearly isn’t, then the plagiarist is sent down. Each submission has a declaration on the front that it is an original piece of work.

It took ninety minutes to hear the evidence for the accusation and the response by the accused. Had she come and said she was in trouble with her project, we’d have tried to accommodate her, but she didn’t, she chose to cheat copying an obscure paper from an online journal. She obviously wasn’t aware that her mentor also knew the original paper and even tried to warn her off by citing it to her. She continued by slightly changing the title and the first page.

The evidence was pretty damning and in the end she admitted she’d copied someone else’s work. She was asked to leave and registered as a fail. I was late collecting the girls and not in the best of moods. I take the integrity of our courses very personally and warn all students that plagiarism isn’t acceptable and will be dealt with firmly, as will any other form of cheating. I urge them all to get a good degree by working hard and talking with tutors and mentors. We use post grad students as mentors for the baccalaureates but the marking is done by teaching staff. We also encourage study groups for people with similar interests. I have been known to sit in on the dormouse or mammal ecology ones.

When I explained why I was late and why I was upset, they considered it was reasonable, as was my expelling a student for cheating. I hope to goodness that none of mine will ever do such a thing.