The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3063 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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When I got home I discovered the girls had been playing darts—to improve their aim and mental arithmetic. They seemed to enjoy it, they’d also been out in the garden looking for bits of wood and other items they could use to make decorations or for flower arranging. Apparently Liz is a whiz at this, unlike me, who allows the girls to do flower arranging for her because it isn’t something that interests me.

I also discovered that they had agreed with Jacquie that they would go out on their bikes tomorrow on the premise that I’d allow Liz to borrow one of mine—my old MTB, which has road tyres on it. I agreed but warned them to be careful as the Portsmouth police had been stopping cyclists and offering advice or handing out tickets for bikes at night riding without lights. The latter is an old chestnut of mine.

Lots of people you see riding bikes are not cyclists, they act like pedestrians on bikes. They don’t stop at red lights, ride on pavements when it suits them seemingly oblivious to any rules of the road. They just go where they want and sod everyone else. If they did it in a car, they’d kill someone. If they get jumped on by the plod, I’d be really happy, because they just annoy everyone from pedestrians to motorists and most of all proper cyclists to ride reasonably well maintained machines to the rules of the road. So good on the plod, persecute the plonkers on bikes and get them off the pavements for good. They’re often middle aged men, but not exclusively so, who think they know everything but actually know nothing, one even got to be Prime minister and another Mayor of London, which just shows if you can bullshit well enough, the sky’s the limit.

Okay, why do I get so riled by a bunch of selfish arseholes? Dunno, it just gets my goat. I shouted at one driving home today, he was busy riding on the pavement when there was a cycle lane next to it and pedestrians had to step into that or the road to avoid him knocking them down. He was about fiftyish with a beard and trilby type hat—which would do little to save his only functioning brain cell if he came off.

I shouted at him because I saw him come up beside me while I was stuck at lights and he then casually decided to ride across in front of me as the lights were changing and across another car coming the other way, which had to stop or kill him. Personally, I think he should have done the latter, because the idiot on the bike then crossed another road where the traffic had to stop to let him pass or hit him. He got loads of horn blowing but he just waved two fingers and rode on. Not a copper in sight—never is when these guys are about.

Danielle took me to one side and said she’d make sure everyone was safe. I almost reminded her that I was paying Liz to do that.

Monday evening came and went and Tuesday dawned with thick mist everywhere and the sound of foghorns from the solent—hence the early dawn. As I had left my laptop and its bag in my office, I decided I would ride to work carrying a change of clothes with me.

By the time the others were up I was half way through my breakfast and wearing the only kit I could find, my Team GB replica one and cycling shoes. The girls seemed disappointed that I wasn’t riding with them and asked if they could come to the university with me. I told them no, I was working and Liz was in charge while I was at work. I did say that if they happened to ride out towards the university, they could come and see the dormice with Liz if she was agreeable.

While they had breakfast I went and checked my bike, the Specialized, and put some air in the tyres. Liz arrived as I was about to leave. “God, the girls play for England and she rides a bike for Great Britain—is there anything this family can’t do? I feel totally inadequate.”

“I don’t ride for GB, it’s just a replica kit and I’m only wearing it today because I couldn’t find my other stuff. I have to go, I’ve told them to behave or deal with me later.”

I pulled on my rucksack with my other clothing in and clipped in and pedalled off. I’m sure the university has moved further from my house because it seemed to take forever to get there. I did manage to get to twenty miles an hour at one point, but the traffic was bumper to bumper and the roads seemed to be full of potholes or road works to repair them.

“Bloody hell, it’s Bradley Wiggins,” was Diane’s comment when she wasn’t snorting at me.

“Just make the tea,” I said back and wheeled my bike into my office for safe keeping. I changed in the loos and by that time Diane had made the tea and left my dormouse mug steaming on my desk.

“I see you managed to do some work after all then, yesterday.”

“Well, I have to keep you busy, don’t I?” I planned on doing the same again today and an hour later was well into doing just that, while the bird songs and calls emanated from my laptop. I was casually dressed in red trousers and near enough matching top with black casual shoes, my cycle clothing hanging on the back of the door when the door opened and in burst Trish and Livvie.

“Mummy,” they both exclaimed.

“Hello, sweeties, come to show Liz the dormice have you?”

“That’s the plan, she and Danni are talking to your secretary.”

“Never mind yacking, get typing,” I said as I exited my office.

“Oh yes, great leader, three bags full, great leader.” The girls just burst out laughing as I pretended to be offended by her impudence.

I enquired where the bikes were and were they locked? Danni and Trish rolled their eyes as if I was speaking to them in baby talk. It transpired they were and to immoveable objects.

Leading them down to the labs I introduced them to John the technician who cast his eye over Liz and seemed impressed with her. She finally got to see and hold a dormouse and like ninety per cent of people who do so, was totally captivated by the beautiful rodents.

“When are you doing the survey?” she asked me as I rescued the animal from Trish who was babbling at it but secretly trying to see what happened if she fired some energy into it.

“Thursday, why?”

“And we get to see some more of these?”

“If we’re lucky, yes.”

“Perhaps if I wear thick jeans, the ticks won’t be able to get me.”

“Probably not. I also wear gaiters but that’s as much to stop the brambles scratching my legs.”

“I could wear my wellies.”

“That would be fine if you can bear to wear them for a few hours.”

“Oh yeah, no problem.”

“They’ll do then.”

“Okay, I’ll come with you on Thursday.”

“Fine, tell Jacquie when you get home will you?”

They left shortly afterwards as David had promised a nice lunch for them. I walked down the road again and in the same Oxfam shop bought a second hand copy of a field guide to wild flowers of Britain and Europe. Then back to the office and another pile of paperwork for Diane to do tomorrow.