The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3032 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 day, history repeated itself. I awoke before the others and after making myself a cuppa, went and sat with my iPad on the patio watching the odd bird flit about or larger ones flying in the distance. After a sip of the life saving fluid I settled down to see what had happened in the world while I was asleep.

Oh wunnerful, North Carolina—oops—I mean North Korea, had detonated a new nuclear device. Just what we need, a country that can’t feed itself armed to the teeth with nuclear weapons. If climate change continues as it seems to be, I presume the weather in the area will become worse and their ability to feed themselves proportionately diminished, only the fat bastard who runs it and his coterie of cronies will eat well. I really can’t understand why China supports it, because they could probably bring about regime change in a very short time. I mean, how could they feel comfortable with that lunatic playing with bombs and missiles like an overgrown and nasty fat little boy, easily spotted amongst his people as the only one with a BMI in double figures.

Oh, Donald Trump is praising his fellow gangster Vladimir Putin, nothing new there then. We know Trump believes in strong leadership, so he’d probably have got on well with Lenin, Stalin and Pol Pot. So we wait and see what the American public do in November and which of the candidates will final get to the White House. We probably have an understanding with them not to burn it down again, though it seems the Palace of Westminster is going to need huge repairs and an evacuation of the Commons and Lords to enable the work to be done—assuming the dreadful wiring it’s apparently full of, doesn’t save them the trouble. Goodness if that happened, the billions it’s forecast to cost to refurbish it would be chicken feed compared to total reconstruction costs. It’s also a unique building and of major historical importance even if it’s currently occupied by a bunch of morons. Still who put them there, the British electorate—average IQ in single figures. Nothing to do with me, squire, the ones I vote for never get elected.

I continued scanning the topics on the front page of my tablet. Dormice—yeah, sure. Hang about, there’s an article on dormice. I feverishly clicked on it and scanned it. Oh dear, seems like they’ve declined by a third since 2000. PTES are concerned, as we all are and they’re blaming the destruction of habitat and climate change—what a coincidence that I’ve been going on about that for years—perhaps I do know something about them after all, there’s a surprise; bearing in mind what they say, if you can – do, if you can’t – teach, if you can’t teach – write books about it. I—er—can identify with all three of those.

While I’m not disputing what PTES are saying and it coincides with their Dormouse Conference at Reading University this weekend, they are such elusive little critters, it’s difficult to prove their presence or absence except by nest boxes or tubes during the summer. Scanning the ground for the telltale signs of nuts eaten by dormice is harder than looking for needles in haystacks, especially as they survive in places that don’t have hazel bushes or trees within miles. Also flail cutting which is often decried as agricultural vandalism, if done after hedges have been laid properly, can actually enable better nesting habitats for dormice because where the branches are cut off leaves nice forks for nest building.

Yeah, it was bad planning missing out on the conference but I’d already booked my holiday when I was invited to attend. Never mind, I’ll support them in spirit and hope to attend the next one if they tell me in time.

My heart rate and blood pressure having returned to normal, I sat quietly thinking about dormice and how I missed doing the hands on work with them, especially one particular animal who totally captivated me in the way that is usually reserved for dogs or cats.

In the Victorian period, dormice were kept as pets, the white tipped tailed ones fetching higher prices than the plain tailed ones—I can understand that, the flash of white on the end of the tail does give those ones something a little extra. Injuries to tails can result in white hairs or even part of the tail being detached entirely. There are three places where the animal can detach the tail, presumably to escape predation and on one occasion I heard about, a human nest box surveyor. The poor chap was really distressed when he was left holding part of a dormouse while the rest of it legged it up the tree.

“Want some breakfast, Mum?” asked Danielle who looked sleepy in her tee shirt nightdress.

“Oh, hi sweetheart, yes please. I’ll come in and help you.”

“No need, I told Gramps I’d keep an eye on you, make sure you got a bit of a rest, like old people are supposed to...” with this riposte she shot back indoors. While it was tempting to fling my iPad at her, they are a bit expensive for such usage and I thought I’d let her make me some toast and fresh cuppa while I rested my ageing body.

I did the crossword, the quick one while I waited and the next thing I know Trish is bringing me out a tray with a cuppa and some toast with mashed ’nana on it. “Thanks sweetheart, what happened to Danni?”

“She’s making breakfast for Lizzie and Cate, gotta go my toast is getting cold.”

When I next go in I must check that it is Danielle not some changeling the fairies have left with us. Perhaps she’s growing up, she’s been quite helpful since we got here, especially with the younger ones. Simon hasn’t cut her a deal has he? You know, look after your mum and I’ll give you a hundred quid when you get home or a new computer or whatever. These girls are all so much more streetwise than I am, and the way they flirt with their dad makes me feel quite inadequate at times. How can someone less than half my age know more about the sexual manipulation of men than I do? Which is basically what flirting is all about, even if the man is a close relative. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not suggesting that Simon fancies them or would do anything improper with them, but they play the pretty girl card and he’s putty. How do I know? I’ve done it myself—duh, it’s just they do it better.

I’m sad that I couldn’t do it with my own father though I have to a small extent with Tom, my substitute dad, I suppose I did to a small extent to that builder chappy I worked for as a secretary, although he knew all about me. That peed off my dad somewhat which was possibly more satisfying than being paid for working as a secretary.

“So, Lady Cameron, what delightful thing shall we do today, given we only have three more left?” This announced the entrance of Dr Cauldwell and my answer threw the ball back in her court.

“What d’you fancy doing?”

https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2016/sep/09/britains...