The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2838 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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Danielle repaired to her room to apply two tons of mascara before going to her football match, I offered to give her a lift and trotted up to mine to change and apply just a few micrograms of the eyelash darkening stuff along with some brown eyeliner, some lipstick and I was ready. Clothes? Oh yes, I had some of those on, Waitrose haven’t yet got around to allowing nude shoppers, besides I’m a naturalist not a naturist.

Trish invited herself along as did Hannah, even though I told them I was doing mainly food shopping. Amongst the trolley load of stuff I bought, remember that David does most of the food orders online, including most of the meat and fish. We have two butchers and one fishmonger. Apparently, David was going to show the others how to make their own bread crumbs—I’m not exactly sure when they’ll need them but I suppose it pays to be prepared.

We dropped Danielle off at the football ground and small coach was parked there, presumably the one that would take the ladies team to wherever they were playing. Danielle had made herself a sandwich—or talked David into doing it for her, more likely—so she grabbed her bag, gave me a peck on the cheek, high fived the other two and went into the players entrance. It was barely nine o’clock.

We were able to park in the Waitrose car park and set off to do our food shop. Despite being fairly early the place was quite busy and I looked at the list David had given me. Fifteen minutes later we were waiting at the checkout. Trish spotted Mrs Brown-Cow and her darling Petunia, but fortunately they didn’t see us and we escaped before they did, Trish telling Hannah all about her in a greatly exaggerated form. As Hannah had actually seen them come in she ignored Trish’s description of her as being like the ogress in Shrek.

We did a quick flit over to John Lewis as well and I got them each a new pair of socks, getting some for Danielle, Meems and Cate as well. Danni doesn’t always seem to feel the cold, not that it’s been that cold yet, but they say that’s going to change over the coming week as the wind turns towards the north—great, just what we need.

If that meant dry and cold I’d accept it better than wet and cold which it looks like being, how the dormice will survive the excessively wet early winter, is hard to say. It looked rather as if numbers had dropped this last summer. Fortunately, the ones we’re breeding seem to be doing reasonably well in their temperature and moisture controlled tanks.

One of the things I’ve been trying to do is vary the genetic mix of our captive bred animals by making different males available to the females. It’s a fact that female dormice are real floozies and their litters often contain babies by different fathers, which improves the survival of some of them by increasing the gene pool. We’ve also tried to mix things further by introducing mice from outside their immediate area and which they’d never normally meet, purely to increase the genetic variability. So far, we haven’t noticed any adverse effects although that could take time to show.

The morning had been relatively bright and stayed dry but the wet stuff started as we were driving home with Trish reading my New Scientist as we went. I don’t know how much she understands of it because I don’t some of the more esoteric, but I’m trying not to underestimate that amazing brain she possesses.

We had to run in with the groceries and David came out to help unload the car. “I didn’t order these or those,” he said glaring at me.

“No, I decided to buy them because I like them.” I defended my purchase of clementines instead of ordinary oranges. He was about to say something and remembered that it was actually my kitchen in which we were standing and that lay inside my house.

“Fine, you’re the boss,” he said and I said nothing but the look I gave him told him not to forget it.

Another thing that had happened was when we took the rolls into the salon, Phoebe nabbed me and shoved a cup of latte coffee in my hand then dragged me off to sort out my nails. She reshaped them and filled in the gap at the base of the nail then repainted them with some stuff that required ultraviolet to dry it.

“You’ll need to come into the salon to get any chips repaired, Mummy.”

“Why?”

“This is special nail varnish, it’s extra tough and doesn’t come off with ordinary remover.” I glanced at my now, dark blue, metallic talons—she hadn’t given me a choice of colour. “Come in again next week and I’ll tidy them up for you again, Mummy.”

“Why did you do them blue?”

“You wear so much denim and besides we thought it would rejuvenate your image as a dowdy old professor.”

Jeez, I’m thirty two not seventy two. So less of the old. I didn’t think I was dowdy either, perhaps I’m wrong. Oh well, looks like I’m stuck with them for another week.

“You do like them, Mummy?” her face fell just a little and I couldn’t really tell her the truth now could I?

“They’re lovely, Phoebe, it’s just a little different from last time.”

She smiled, “Good I’m glad you like them.”

“Huh,” sighed Trish, looking at her pink painted nails, “I couldn’t do mine blue like yours in case I couldn’t get it off before school on Monday—s’not fair.” But then for Trish, it never is.

Hannah had pink nails too, but then the idea there was to try and stop her biting them because they looked so awful. But then she lives in fear of Ingrid wanting to have her back. I try to tell her it’s unlikely as she’d have to go through the courts and that costs money, besides, I’d removed an obstacle from her hedonist lifestyle which I’m not sure she’ll be in too big a hurry to curtail.

Stella noticed my nails and liked them. “I can’t do anything like that?” She continued complaining, “I’m a nurse remember, and they reckon it’s unhygienic. Seeing as I rarely actually touch anyone except wearing nitrile gloves, which are purple, I can’t see the problem but rules are rules and they say no nail varnish or nail extensions.”

“You could paint them over a weekend, like the girls did,” I pointed out to her and the girls wiggled their fingers practically up her nose.

“Can’t be bothered, besides those acrylic things you’ve got on your fingers will weaken the nails after a few days.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah, well known fact, didn’t the girls tell you?” with that parting shot she took her washing up to her rooms.

“Is that true?” I asked no one in particular.

“Oh yes, read about it somewhere on the internet,” said David and did I see a smirk?