The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2858 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’m going to find out who they are and have them boiled alive,” I said loudly to the computer.

“Who?” demanded Simon.

“The bastards who wrote this stupid program.”

“Which one is that?”

“Spider solitaire, most of the games are almost impossible to win.”

“That might say more about your playing skills than the game.”

“But I’m sure I used to do better, I’m sure it’s got worse since the last download thing.”

“What download thing?”

“From Microshit.”

He gave me an old fashioned look, “Better let Sammi take a look at your computer. You still running Windows 7?”

“Yes, eight is for eight year olds with smart phones or tablets and ten can’t be any good as they’re giving it away.”

“Why don’t you get a Mac, then?”

“They’re as bad, besides they don’t have half as many programs for Apple stuff.”

“How many do you use?”

“Uh, Word and a couple that Sammi wrote for me. I also use Internet explorer as a browser.”

“It’s rubbish and they’re going to stop supporting it sometime soon.”

“Yeah well I don’t like, Google or Firefox or Safari or whatever Apple sell.”

“I’ll bet you watch BBC iPlayer?”

“So what?”

“That’s an Apple program.”

“Is that why it’s so slow—gives me the pip.”

“Very funny—what are we doing today? It’s not actually raining—yet.”

“It’s supposed to be dry today, rain again tomorrow. I’m waiting for the girls to come down for breakfast.”

“We could go and—you know—while we wait...”

“Si we did that last night and the night before—not to put too fine a point on it—I’m shagged out.”

“So that’s what we could hear, bedsprings—I’m glad someone is getting some,” Julie smirked. “Aaahh,” she squealed and dropped her dish of cereal.

We both jumped up and went to see what the problem was. “There,” she pointed.

I looked, it was one of Bramble’s toys and I told her so.

“But it moved, I’m sure it did.”

“I doubt it,” and went to pick up the quite lifelike creature and it did move, boy did I jump as it scuttled across the kitchen floor and a moment later a flurry of fur hit it and the end didn’t take long.

“I didn’t know dogs killed mice,” said Si shaking his head at Kiki’s sudden charge. She was currently wagging her tail and scoffing the spilt cereal and milk.

“Yes, they can’t help themselves and I suspect Tom has encouraged it.” He appeared a few moments later as I swept up the remaining mess of broken crockery and cereal particles. Thankfully the dog didn’t pick any of those up. Of course the milk went everywhere and so did the rumour. ‘Your mother can’t tell the difference between a cat’s toy and the real thing. It was dark down by the side of the fridge where it had lurked. I suppose the spoon landing behind had caused it to run for it only its bid for safety was short lived, as was the mouse. Kiki who’d come to cash in on the free breakfast spotted the rodent and...

“Some bloody biologist,” said Trish and the rest of the mouseketeers guffawed. I was just about to slap her one, really hard when the sound of a man’s voice stopped me. It was the clock radio. Why don’t we switch it off on Friday night? Jim Naughtie was yakking on about some Presidential campaign and it took me a moment to realise this was the American one. How come we have to wait five years to get rid of a Prime Minister they only have to wait four? Plus I remembered reading that a British PM has much more power and authority than a US president. The fact that the current one, PM that is, doesn’t do very much is because they’ve cut the armed services until we only have a Royal Navy of two rowing boats and canoe. An army with smaller numbers than the Girl Guides and an airforce who can’t afford the fuel for their two remaining Sopwith Camels—see I have read some Biggles. So declaring war on Russia isn’t an option until the airforce gets a delivery of fuel sometime in 2050—or something like that. I heard an admiral saying it was embarrassing that the Royal Navy needed to refit several ships because they keep breaking down. They have Rolls Royce engines, so I believe the correct phraseology is, ‘Rolls Royce don’t break down, they simply fail to proceed.’ Lot of good if you have cruise missiles as incoming.

I suddenly sat up, switched off the radio and said to the inert Simon, “Why do cruise liners carry missiles,” lay back down and went off to sleep again. At least I wasn’t dreaming about mice again—I don’t really like them, but if I’m expecting them I can cope, even handling them and of course dormice and harvest mice don’t count—do wood mice with their kingsize scrotums? How do I know, I’m asleep.

I woke up with a cat sitting on my chest and gently patting my face. “What d’you want?” I asked yawning just in time for her paw to end up in my mouth and I sat up spitting and coughing. I ran to the bathroom and washed my mouth out—you never know where those paws have been.

Stella was sitting at the breakfast table reading my Guardian. “Afternoon,” she said as I switched on the kettle.

“So, I fell asleep again.”

“Keep your hair on.”

“Where is everybody?”

“They’ve gone out with Si and Tom and the dog.”

I glanced at the clock—it was nearly ten. I went to get myself sorted and dressed, if I hurried I could be out before they came back. I quickly made my tea, sipped at it, grabbed a banana and biting off a mouthful—after peeling it—duh; ran back upstairs holding my impromptu breakfast.

In half an hour I was dressed and out hoping they didn’t see my car flying down the road. I didn’t want help with this bit of shopping, I wanted to be alone when I did it. I knew exactly what I wanted and roughly where to get it. The only reason I hadn’t bought it online was I wanted to see and touch it for real rather than accept a poor description on Amazon or some other website. I could probably have paid less online, but I’m supposed to be comfortably wealthy, so decided I could afford it.

Unfortunately, as the weather was fine today, the sun blinding everyone trying to drive towards it, the prols were out in force. Most have the driving skills of a drunken housefly and the parking skills of a ferret with Parkinson’s. I beeped loudly at someone who nearly reversed into me. Stupid man. He had a Jack Russell or some other small terrier thing bouncing about in the back seat and I wondered if he should let the dog drive, then I remembered the incident where the thug who nearly hit me off my bike and who chased me in his car when I gave him the finger, got run over by his dog who knocked the car into gear and released the handbrake at the same time. I chuckled to myself as I recalled the silly incident because to everyone but the man himself, it was so funny.