The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2968 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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“I’ll see ye later,” said Tom as he left for his office.

He actually chairs the academic council which has a meeting from ten, so I’ve time to get the girls to school and do some work before I fritter the rest of the morning listening to the same old grumbles from the same old grumblers. Usually it’s about funding or trying to preserve staffing levels or both, the one does tend to involve the other. I’ve been fortunate in that we have no shortage of students as do things like media studies, business studies as well as health and social care. We train social workers and nurses as well as a few other professions. However, engineering, chemistry and IT are suffering from lack of students and research sponsors, mind you we’re suffering the latter mainly through the mess that constitutes the EU referendum.

We finished breakfast and I loaded the girls in the VW and off to school we went, then after fighting my way through the Pompey traffic I eventually arrived at the University to find someone had parked in my space. I hoped it wasn’t an omen for the day. As the spaces are allocated, if I use another one, I end up putting someone else out of a space. I checked the car. It wasn’t displaying any sort of permit, so I parked next to it and went to the office to complain.

I noted the number on the Lexus spoke to the girl in reception, she had no idea who the car belonged to and would ask the porter who keeps an eye on the car park to check it out and inform the driver it was illegally parked in someone else’s space. She’d also tell him I was parked alongside it on the driveway but not causing any obstruction, especially as I was in the VW and not my Jaguar, which was better known.

I was therefore, not in the best mood to start the day; which Diane immediately picked up on. “Who took your lollipop?” she asked as she brought in my cuppa.

“It was my parking space, not a lollipop which was misappropriated.”

“What? Somebody parked in your space—the one that says, ‘Prof Bio Sci’?”

“The same.”

“Recognise the car?”

“No, it was a large black, Lexus 4x4, 2016 model.”

“Goodness, someone richer than you...”

“Ha bloody ha, I didn’t think Croesus drove a Lexus—expensive bloody Toyota.”

“Is it? Oh well, you’re morally superior with your Tata-mobile then.”

“I’ve got the personnel carrier today.”

“What one of those army things?”

“No sadly, if it had been one of those I’d have parked it on top of the Lexus.”

“Remind me not to pinch your parking spot.”

“Perhaps I should get one, a Warrior, but I’ll wait until they upgrade the gun from a thirty to forty millimetre cannon.”

“How d’you know about them, dormice use them do they?”

“Yeah, when they’re not up in the trees.”

“I was going to say, they’re probably a bit heavy for tree climbing.”

“Just a tad.”

“So how does a professor of biology know about Warrior wotsits?”

“I can’t quite remember which of the girls was researching something on the Gulf War and we came across all the data on Challenger tanks and Warrior APCs or IFV I think they call them. Infantry fighting vehicles,” I added to answer Diane’s bemused look.

“Yeah, well I know IVF means something different,” she retorted.

“Just a bit, but for all we know some of the infantry originated that way.”

“You have a meeting in twenty minutes,” she said looking at the clock on the wall above me.

“Yes, I plan on doing some excrement agitation there.”

“What?” I thought her eyes were going to pop. “Doesn’t that require a fan?”

“I have plenty of those,” I smirked, “but for real shit stirring you need a paddle.”

“Won’t you be risking being spanked by your dad in front of lots of crusty old academics.”

I nearly choked with laughter, “I’m probably more dangerous than he is.”

“With or without a Warrior—was it?”

“Absolutely.”

The phone rang and Diane answered it. “They know who pinched your space, someone visiting the Vice Chancellor—they’re coming to your meeting apparently.”

“Give me an hour before you send any body-bags over.”

“That sounds like fightin’ talk, missus.”

“It was meant to. Where’s the meeting?”

“Uh, board room, that’s board with an a.”

“I won’t be bored today.”

I collected my files and then wandered over to the boardroom having checked my hair and makeup en route. My DK suit should suffice to impress those who recognised good taste.

Tom strolled in with an MP who was a leading member of the Brexit team. I could feel my blood pressure and bile rising.

“Before we start the meeting Mr Quentin Oswald has offered to answer any questions you might have about the effects of the UK leaving the EU.”

As far as I was aware, Tom was like me, a Remain supporter, so what was he doing?”

For the next half an hour, our unwanted guest tried to answer questions which the enquirers knew he couldn’t and within a few minutes he was floundering like a flat fish on the deck of a trawler. He tried the usual stuff of spending £350 million pounds per week and he was shot down on that, because it’s a lie as were most of his answers. I enjoyed watching him squirm but waited until the last question to add my scorn to my colleagues.

“Professor Watts?” said Tom remaining formal in front of strangers.

“Yes, thank you, Vice Chancellor. If the polls are correct and Brexit wins the referendum might I name him on the law suit I shall instigate if my investments or savings lose value in the event of the United Kingdom withdrawal from the EU?”

“No, we shall claim Parliamentary privilege.”

“I suspect my lawyers will get round that seeing as you’re not actually in Parliament at the moment and I’m referring to your campaign not any subsequent legislation. I shall probably be suing all of your colleagues in the Out campaign.”

He looked worried for a moment, then smirked, “I didn’t think a professor’s salary would afford the sort of counsel you’d need to mount such a law suit.” The look on my fellow academics was that of smugness, he didn’t know who I was. I also knew his car had been clamped and was anticipating his discovery with delight.

Tom leant over and whispered in his ear, probably informing him what my married name was. He still didn’t get it until he told him point blank who my father in law was. The smirk turned to a rather pained look.

He left soon afterwards and probably spent the next hour or two getting his car back, Diane had sent me a silent text saying that his car had been clamped and the porter who dealt with such things had taken some stuff to one of the outlier departments and wouldn’t be back for an hour or so. I shared this with the meeting and the crusty old academics roared with laughter. Despite my intentions to upset them all, I decided solidarity was the order of the day and slept through most of the rest of the meeting, except the part where we agreed to tell students how much the uncertainty over the EU membership was potentially going to affect their studies. If we exit, it could take years to deal with the mess—all for what? So lame brain Boris can unseat our namesake as PM—what a pair of tossers.