The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2918 by Angharad Copyright© 2016 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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The next morning I was confronted by my secretary. “The White House was only burnt down once and that was in 1814 not the war of independence.”

“Thank you for telling me that. Did you know one of my ancestors was there?”

“No,” she gasped.

“Neither did I. You making the tea?” She scowled at me and went off to boil the kettle. I mean, who cares when we did it—it was a long time ago and as long as they keep my namesake away from any matches when he goes to brown nose Obama, they should be safe for a while.

“You’re a lousy historian,” she said plonking my tea down on the desk so some spilt onto the papers underneath.

“I’m an ecologist/biologist, at least I knew it happened.”

She huffed and flounced out—yeah flounced, just like Trish when she can’t get her own way.

I drank my tea trying to wind down my irritation, I was still covering for that idiot who was claiming to be sick—oh apparently he was in Spain, he was so sick, so the acting Dean began to believe me that he was malingering. His phone call made the day seem brighter despite the showers that were forecast.

“You know you’re teaching in ten minutes?” said Diane poking her head round the door.

“Yes, what am I doing?”

“Ecology of woodland.”

I smiled, my bread and butter stuff—how many weeks have we got?

Everybody but the first years are doing exams, so I’ll have marking to do after next week. Could have done without that, still the advert goes in the various journals and online for a temporary replacement for our resident pain in the arse. I know there are plenty of graduates looking for jobs, I hope some have master’s or better and we can use them immediately. The problem is, most of the good ones are already in employment and require weeks of notice to be worked before they can come. I was tempted to quickly phone Professor Herbert.

In answer to my question he replied, “Actually, Cathy, we have someone you can borrow for a couple of weeks.”

“That sounds ominous,” I said quietly.

“Au contraire, she’s actually very good and in awe of you.”

“Me?” I squeaked.

“Yes, she loves your dormouse film and the harvest mouse one. I’ll send her over this afternoon if you’re free.”

“I am, well after one, I am.”

“Good, I’ll send her then, you can see if she makes the grade.”

“How come she’s free to transfer?”

“She’s covering maternity leave and Karen is back from yesterday, so she’s been doing tutorials just to keep busy.”

“What’s her name?”

“Debbie Matthews.” I hastily scribbled it down and dashed off to my two hours of torment with the first year.

Ninety spotty yoofs and bored ladettes can make two hours feel a very long time, thankfully, I didn’t have any of that and I enthralled them with tales of man eating dormice and cannibal squirrels—nah, I taught them the principles of the ecology of woodlands, about climax vegetation and insects and birds, shade loving plants and the mammals that dwell in our richest land environment.

I try to involve them—it keeps them awake longer—and they have to call out species that naturally occur in woodland in the UK. It’s easy at first, but after the first twenty they start umming and ahhing and I have to help them. Think of a woodland bird. And still she said, seagull.

“Look, kiddo, there is no such thing as a sea gull, they’re herring gulls, black headed gulls and so on, yes they do frequent the sea, but none of them are called sea gulls, except in Ibsen plays. So how about a bird with wood in its name?”

“Oh, sorry,” she blushed and somebody whispered something to her, “Oh yeah, spotty woodpecker.”

In order to move things on so I could torment the other seventy students, I accepted woodpecker and put it down as great spotted variety as they’d be very lucky to see a lesser spotted one round here.

“Why’s it called a woodpecker?” I asked her.

“It—um—pecks wood?” she blushed like a traffic light.

“Well done, though the clues in its name. Right next one, give me a plant or animal that lives in woodland.”

After we got ninety species on the board we looked at relationships between them and by the end of two hours they were starting to realise ecology is about relationships—perhaps I should try getting someone from Marriage Guidance to teach them?

“We have visitor arriving,” I said to Diane.

“No we don’t.”

“What? She hasn’t cancelled, has she?”

“No, she’s gone over to the refectory for a cuppa while she waits for you.”

“Couldn’t you have given her one—a cuppa, I mean.”

“No, we ran out of milk, I’ll get some more when I go for lunch.”

“Couldn’t we cadge some from catering?”

“Who’s going to get it?”

“Okay, I need to freshen up anyway,” I slipped to the loo and wiped my face and combed my hair as well as having a wee—not all at the same time I must add, I might be into multitasking but—you know what I mean—duh.

I’d reapplied some lipstick and combed my hair and just as I emerged from the loo, our visitor arrived back with some milk. “I asked if they could spare a pint, I hope semi is okay?”

“Absolutely, you’ve saved my life and grumpy’s here,” I nodded at Diane.

“Okay, Snow White, I’ll make you some tea.” Diane took the milk and went off to the little kitchen we have.

“Are you always so casual with colleagues?” asked our visitor who introduced herself as Debbie Matthews.
“Cathy Cameron,” we shook hands, “come along in.”

We chatted and I began to pick up one or two little things. Her hands and feet were larger than mine, not that means anything, she was taller than I am, but there were little things. Was she or wasn’t she and how do I find out? Then, what did it matter? We don’t discriminate anyway, but I’d like to know so if we do employ her, I can protect her—apart from that the uncertainty is killing me. I’ll shoot Esmond, if this is a wind up.

Debbie is a biologist which is fine, so am I as well as an ecologist, we often are. She told me she had a master’s in mammal ecology. Sounds even better and she really wanted to meet me.

“Why?” I asked.

“You did those two films about dormice and harvest mice—they were brilliant. I hope you show them to your students, they’re good enough to use as a teaching aid.” I only do when I run out of ideas and most of them are only here because they saw them and fancied cuddling dormice for a living.

Of course I took her to lunch at a local pub and when she went to the loo, I decided her hips weren’t as wide as they might be, but she looked the part and assuming she could do the work, I’d offer her a temporary contract. Now, did she know about me and is she or isn’t she? Dammit, this is ridiculous.