The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2823 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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I didn’t get to read my book, that wretched woman kept on talking, as we’d already got more than half way I did a little name dropping. “I met Sir David Attenborough the other day.”

“What the chap off the TV—does the nature programmes?”

“Yes, him.”

“What’s he like?”

“Given he’s over eighty, amazing. He also possesses a charm which puts you at your ease immediately.”

“How did you get to meet him?”

“I did the Christmas lecture at the university which is open to every member of staff, students or invited guests. My old prof invited him and he did the vote of thanks.”

“You got a vote of thanks from David Attenborough? That must have been exciting.”

“I knew nothing about it until he stood up and began speaking. I nearly collapsed in shock—he’s my all time hero.”

“And you got to meet him?”

“We took him to lunch.”

“I’ll bet that was fun.”

“Fun and nerve-racking. Suddenly, I got to meet this man I’d idolised ever since I was a girl and not only that but we’re having lunch together. Turns out my old prof used to be a technical expert for some of his programmes so they knew each other quite well and when he was going to be in the area, Tom asked him to come and do the vote of thanks. He was very complimentary.”

“Well you done those two programmes on mousey things, din’you?”

“Dormice and harvest mice.”

“That’s the ones. Seen any lately?”

“Only in the university, we breed them for release into the wild.”

“So some of them in the wild ain’t really wild?”

“The chances are their mothers were but were possibly too small to survive a winter hibernation.”

“How big they gotta be then?”

“At least fifteen grams, preferably more.”

“That’s like the weight of a bag of crisps.”

Funny she should know that, I didn’t. Dormice crisps—pul-ease.”

“Dormice crisps,” she tittered for a moment. Didn’t they used to have hedgehog crisps?”

“I think it was a joke by Walkers.”

“No, I saw them in the shops a few years ago.”

“They weren’t flavoured with hedgehog, that was just a publicity stunt cum hoax.”

“Thank goodness for that, I wouldn’t have been able to look myself in the eye if I had eaten hedgehog—they’re such lovely, cuddly creatures.”

“They’re covered in spines and full of fleas and ticks.”

“Oh don’t say that, I’ll never think of Mrs Tiggywinkle in quite the same light again.”

Beatrix Potter has a lot to answer for, she was however a serious botanical illustrator and i have a book at home she did the illustrations for, on fungi. She lived up in the Lake District near Keswick.

“Sorry to shatter your illusions.”

“I had a soft toy one when I was a youngster, used to take it everywhere until I dropped it in the road and it got flattened.”

How I kept a straight face I’ll never know, but it just struck me on the funny bone that motor vehicles are one of the biggest causes of hedgehog mortality and she had a toy one that got flattened by a car.

“When I was in school I did a survey of road casualties in our part of Bristol, that was mainly hedgehogs, badgers and foxes.”

“Badgers in a city?”

“Yes, parts of Bristol are quite suitable habitats for badgers. In some of the bigger houses there are small woodlands in the gardens, the gardens are that big.”

“In the city?”

“Not in the city centre but in places like Clifton and Whitchurch.”

“Coo, better than Portsmouth then?”

“Let’s face it, Pompey is limited by being an island, so land is at a premium.”

“And Bristol is a quite a size with several large parks and communal areas, sports areas and that sort of thing, plus it has three or four motorways running through or around it, their banks are untouched by man and badgers and foxes, even deer inhabit them.”

“You’re so clever.” I suppose I was compared to her, then so was Kiki. Thankfully, we arrived at London before things got any further down the cringeworthy scale and I was able to escape as the hordes struggled to get off the platforms and we were separated. I grabbed a cab and headed for the hotel which is in Park Lane and overlooks part of Hyde Park. It’s one of the most prestigious in the world and owned by the Sultan of Brunei, it’s also one of the most expensive and I was very glad Simon didn’t suggest we went dutch.

(photo courtesy of Wikipedia)

I entered the main door and went to reception, the case was getting heavy but no one seemed in a hurry to help a damsel in distress. I finally got the attention of the receptionist who looked at me with some disgust. I was wearing jeans and trainers with a Barbour coat over the top. “Yes, can I help you, modom?” she said with a plum in her voice.

“Yes, my husband booked a room here for tonight.”

She looked at me with incredulity, I obviously didn’t look well enough upholstered to be able to afford a room there.

“What name?”

“Cameron.”

“Are you sure it was Cameron, I can’t find see anything on the register?”

I sighed, I was all for getting the cab back to Waterloo and the train home. “Try Stanebury, as in Viscount.”

She did a double take. “You’re Lady Stanebury?”

“One of them, yes.”

“One? How many are there then?” This was bordering upon insolence and I felt like saying, ‘What business of yours is it?’

Instead, I actually said, “Three, my mother in law who is the Countess, my sister in law who is the Lady Stella and I’m Catherine. Satisfied?”

“Yes of course, Lady Catherine, sorry for any misunderstanding, your family have a suite booked for this evening, I’ll get you a porter.”

The rooms were very nice, a bit quaint but comfortable and after a cup of tea I went and bathed before starting to get ready. It was seven and we were due to be down in the basement for eight. Simon dashed in with Henry and Monica as I was doing my makeup. I was sitting in a wrap at the dressing table when Simon walked over pecked me on the cheek and began disrobing on the way to the shower. Henry and Monica called hello and went into their room.

“So where’s this five thousand pound gown?” said Simon as he emerged from the bathroom with a towel round his waist.

“I’m not sitting round in it, so wait and see.”

He shook his head, “It had better be worth it.”

“Why, what are you going to do about it?”

“Take that bloody card off Stella.”

“You said that before.”

“Did I, make us a cuppa, there’s a good girl,” and he disappeared into the bathroom to shave or I assumed that was what I could hear buzzing away. I filled the kettle and switched it on, then went across to Henry and Monica to see if they wanted a cuppa. They did.