Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 674 by Angharad

I woke up with three giggling bodies, all with cold feet, wriggling their way into my bed. The aliens had found me, and were talking in that giggling language they had. I tried to ignore them, but they were touching me and giggling.

“Do you know what time it is?” I asked sleepily.

It was a mistake, because my smart arse foster kid replied, “Yes, Mummy, it’s half past six.”

I groaned, it was a weekend and I was being woken at six thirty. Maybe I shoulda fed them all to the lions–nah, the zoo would have prosecuted me for trying to poison their animals.

“It is too early to get up yet, so please let me sleep a bit longer.” I knew my pleas were in vain, they were awake and wanted me to be in the same state. At this moment, the state I’d like them to be in, is California, while I stay here. However, it wasn’t to be. They settled down but I was now awake and they kept making silly noises, so I resigned myself to my fate and got up.

The troop of monkeys followed me down the stairs–I really would have to check, the zoo didn’t do a swap with any of my kids. They ate breakfast and squabbled while I drank my first cuppa–that almost made things feel better.

I made some toast and ate it after I’d made some for the girls. I wasn’t very hungry and had to force it down. I knew it wasn’t pig flu, just tiredness and the stress of dealing with three mischievous monkeys, all of whom seemed to have five hands each.

“Please respect this place, it was my parent’s home and is as yet much as it was when they were living here. So, I don’t want sticky fingers everywhere or anything broken.”

“Yes, Mummy,” Trish sighed. I made another mug of tea and drank it, while I finished my toast. There was a crash from the lounge and the sound of squabbling and blame being apportioned. By the time I got there, Mima was in tears and Trish was saying accusative things to her. “She did it, Mummy,” Trish pointed her finger at Mima.

“What am I going to do with you lot? I asked you to be careful. What have you broken?” It was a Royal Wedding plate, celebrating the marriage of Charles and Diana. My mother was fond of the royals, I’m not particularly, so I was irritated more than really cross. “Anything else, you lot break and I shall deduct the value from your pocket money.” I went and got some newspaper and wrapped up the fragments and dumped them in the bin. Then I got out Mum’s Dyson and practically sucked the carpets off the floor. It certainly got up the tiny fragments which one can miss with a brush and pan.

I showered the girls and then myself; next it was drying and tidying up their hair. This looking after girls is a real pain, maybe I should swap ‘em for boys–maybe not.

We all dressed in jeans and tee shirts, and then we walked down the road to get a newspaper–Sundays, wouldn’t be the same without my Observer and its crossword, assuming I can stay awake long enough to do it. I got them each a lollipop which they sucked as we walked home. The older girls could have brought their bikes with them, I’d have to remember that next time.

I wondered what we would do today, apart from eat and clean up afterwards. I suppose I could just let the girls ride their bikes and Mima to play with her dolls–assuming that was what they wanted to do. Or, as it was quite nice, I could take them out somewhere.

We ended up going to Jeffrey Archer country, Weston-super-mare. He used to live there in the days before he became a peer, best selling author and then jailbird. It’s on the Bristol Channel coastline, which means the tidal difference can be forty feet or more, one of the highest in the world. As the River Severn flows into the sea near there, it can also be very muddy.

The beach, such as it was, was okay for paddling, which the girls did, then they made sandcastles, while I sat on a towel and read my paper. I hadn’t quite decided how we’d manage to get Trish into a bathing suit without showing her plumbing problem, so they had to make do with rolling the legs of their jeans up to their knees. They all looked like pirates.

We did all the things people with kids do at the seaside, candyfloss, ice creams, we even bought a kite and flew it for a while, until Livvie lost control and it nearly pole-axed some little kid who was playing near the crash site.

His parents were not amused and told me so in irate Brissle accents. I decided arguing was pointless, so I accepted the rants and after suitably shrugging my shoulders and apologising, I took my kids away down the beach. They all had a go at flying the kite before it got too busy to be safe, and by that time I was ready for lunch.

Walking into the town, we found a pub with a beer garden, and the girls played on the swings and things while I went in and ordered some food. We had to have Sunday lunches, of roast beef or lamb. The girls all opted for beef until I said I was having lamb, then they changed their minds and ordered the same.

We ate it in the sunshine in the garden. Sadly, it didn’t make it taste any better and at the price they charged it was robbery. The lamb was one of those that they get who lived for about thirty years and died of old age, the veg were cooked to death, then resurrected and cooked some more, I don’t expect Yorkshire pudding with lamb, that should be beef. The mint sauce was okay, so if ever we come again, I’ll just order mint sauce.

We did a fun fair after lunch and all three of them were sick after some whirly ride they insisted upon trying. Thankfully, it wasn’t over themselves, but the people below might have had something to say if they’d known who was responsible. The rides were an extortionate price so we left soon after and went back to the car. On the drive home, it rained so they wouldn’t get out on their bikes today unless things changed for the better.

The showers were confined to the coastal area and our place was spared. So they did get to play outdoors while I made a chicken fricassee with rice. When I called them in, they ate it all without any questions asked and had fruit for dessert–they’d had enough rubbish for one day.

We played snakes and ladders after dinner, while the machine washed the dishes. Then it was time for bed and I read them some of the Gaby stories I had. Of course Livvie was new to the idea, and one of the reasons I did it was to gauge her reaction to the boy-girl concept. She seemed to accept the idea and even found it amusing in places. Trish and Mima love the stories anyway, so I knew they’d go down quite well.

I did get to finish my crossword–when I went to bed, I just managed to stay awake long enough to get the last anagram. Then it was lights out, quite literally and I zonked until the aliens came again.

Monday morning is usually crazy as I try and get Trish and Livvie ready for school. So I got up at seven, as per usual and got them ready as if for school. Instead of formal education, I took them when we were ready to the Explore at Bristol.

This is like a hands on science exhibition, where the kids can do things, and best of all they can touch things–in fact they are encouraged to touch things, which they did until they seemed ‘touched out’ when we went into the planetarium and they were able to see the night sky as it would be tonight, if it weren’t for the clouds and light pollution. Anyway, they all had a nice nap when the lights went out and I was able to enjoy the planetarium without questions being fired at me all the time.

After this it was time for a drink and some lunch–we had a sandwich each from a nearby supermarket, then went to look at some of the other museums and finally had a trip on the river.

When we got back, we were all so tired, it was a snack for tea and then they all went to bed and I wasn’t far behind them. I missed Simon’s call because I was asleep and my phone was switched off.

I slept very well and so did the girls. No one was showing signs of pig flu, and the next day we went to see Des’ house, the Des Res. The girls seemed to like it. I didn’t tell them it was Puddin’s father’s house, It was too complicated, so I said I was looking after it for a friend. I’d spoken to the local estate agent and he’d told me how much we could expect for the rent–it was quite frightening–I wasn’t paying Tom anything, and neither were the others. I felt I’d have to discuss it with him when we went back to Portsmouth.

Simon called again, and this time we were able to talk. Apparently, there was no swine flu, it was Petunia’s mother making a mountain out of a molehill, in her attention seeking way. The local paper took her to task according to Simon. He asked if I wanted to see a copy and I declined his offer. Nothing about that wretched woman was better than even bad news.

I told Simon we’d come home that afternoon, which he seemed pleased to hear.