Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 659 by Angharad

“I ended doing three radio interviews and two TV ones.” I said as I sipped my tea.

“Do they pay you for them?” asked Si.

“Sort of, Erin was trying to screw a few pounds out of them.”

“Well, the ones we saw, looked quite good.”

“Did they?”

“Of course they did, I’ve recorded them, so you can judge for yourself.”

“Not tonight, I think I’ve had enough of studios and television.”

“Is there any more in prospect?” he asked.

“I’ve agreed to do Midweek in the next few weeks?”

“Oh, I like that programme.”

“Well you go and do it then and I’ll stay at home.”

“Very funny, it’s not me who’s made a film about dormice.”

“I tell you what, you can do the harvest mouse one, as long as you wear a bikini or a sexy top and shorts.” I smirked at him.

“Oh yeah, I know bugger all about dormice, let alone harvest thingies.”

“Harvest mice, I’ll write the script for you, all you have to do is look sexy and turn all the blokes on.”

“Cathy, I am over six foot tall, I have a broad hairy chest and fat hairy legs. I am not doing your next film period; never mind turning anyone on.”

“You turn me on,” I said.

“I’m pleased to hear it, but let’s face it, I’m a banker cum broker. I am not a television presenter or naturalist. I can just about tell the difference between a red deer and a stoat.”

“That’s more than some people can, mind you talking of stoats, there was one filmed in January or February dancing about in someone’s garden in Wiltshire, in the snow. It was really funny, he bounced about like a kitten.”

“I think I saw that, on the BBC?” said Simon smiling. It tended to indicate he had, it was just so funny. I’d love to have filmed something like that on dormice or in fact anything. We tend to think that only primates and carnivores play. Maybe other critters do too, which is difficult to say out loud because of the hostility of some religious lobbies who think only man has freedom of speech, word and deed.

As a man wrote the religious laws under which they practice, it strikes me as a problem awaiting a solution, and that until now, lip service is all that’s been contributed. The earlier goddess worshipping days were less coherent, because there was no written language in those days, least as far as we know there wasn’t.

Anyway, play is seen as one of the highest mental activities, yet we see it in many animals and birds, watching fox cubs or young badgers is like watching puppies or kittens playing–practicing their hunting and killing techniques. The crow family, seem to do things for the hell of it, and any one who has watched choughs flying will know immediately what I mean. They are amazing aerobats who appear to have fun flying.

I’ve seen two young peregrines chase a snipe–no mean flier itself–with little attempt to catch it, just a bit of tomfoolery, where they flew like they were jet fighters pursuing a heavier bomber. Presumably they were practicing their hunting, but it looked as if they enjoyed it too, hunting in a pair.

Dormice can climb like squirrels, possibly better because they are smaller and thus get onto smaller twigs and boughs. At times it can seem like they are having fun–although I’m aware this is all anthropocentric thinking, and I could be completely wrong, but I doubt it.

A film on wild animals at play, would be very entertaining, but I won’t mention it to Erin, she’ll be selling it before I’d made it, being the astute business woman who successfully traded our first film.

“So, are we going to bed to see if I still push your buttons?”

“I can’t think of anything better to do. Did Laura pick up Peaches?”

“Yep, she’d collected her before I got there, so we didn’t see anything of the fruity one.”

“Oh good, that means I don’t have to see her again tonight. She’s a nice kid but I have doubts about her mother. “

“Do you think she knows anything about your past?”

“If she does it will be because she heard it from the archives. C’mon, let’s go to bed, I’m shattered.” I was too, so after raising Simon’s hopes–I dashed them.

That night, I had a weird dream about Simon making a nature documentary film wearing my top and shorts and me getting very upset because he would stretch them if not destroy them altogether. I tried to make him stop, but he insisted he wore them for the filming, “after all you told me to wear them.”

Suddenly he was all the men’s pin up, replacing such stars as Susan Boyle and Lassie. I did say it was a weird dream. Then we were inundated with requests for his autograph from loads of men, some of whom were offering photos of themselves.

Finally, I managed to see Simon being offered a contract for Playboy, It might help with the weird dreams, or did they just get a whole lot riskier as he posed in my underwear in the centre pages.

The dreams continued even after the aliens attacked us in bed again, but these were more realistic and Simon was in bed with a giant dormouse. No not Giant the bikemaker, but a very large rodent–shades of Roger rabbit.