Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1489

The Daily Dormouse.
(aka Bike)
Part 1489
by Angharad

Copyright © 2011 Angharad
All Rights Reserved.
  
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On returning home, I contacted the estate agents involved, Cross & Cross. The unconscious message of a double-cross, had sort of permeated my addled brain, however, I made enquiries about the land. Apparently someone had made an offer pending some enquiries–obviously the planning permission to develop the site.

After getting the evening meal underway, I allowed the children to have an apple and a drink to keep them going, I quickly drafted my report, which suggested there were likely to be dormice in the woodland/hedgerow. I also pointed out that given the variety of species in the hedge, using Peterkin’s formula, I estimated the hedgerow to be at least two hundred years old.

I included photographs of several aspects and took some of the shells found in the woodland, using the macro facility on my best camera. Once I managed the shots I wanted, I included them in the draft documents and sent them off to Tom. I wondered if Gareth Sage was still at the county office of Natural England.

Tom arrived home two hours later. He was late, having apparently had an unexpected visit from Natural England. Gareth had moved on and they were introducing the new officer, Dr Helen Maddison. As soon as he said the name, I had vague memories of a Helen Maddison at Sussex, in the year above mine. She was into pond life, if I remembered correctly, and was effectively intending to do freshwater ecology. I assumed she’d end up doing fish stuff for Defra or one of the water companies.

“She did her bachelor’s degree at Sussex,” Tom confirmed my suspicions, “wondered if ye knew her?”

“There was a girl in the year ahead of me, I think.”

“She saw you do your charity gig at the university, so she’ll be pleased to meet you formally.”

“So she can remind everyone about the weirdo she knew in uni?”

“I dinna think she recognised ye, ye hae changed a wee bit in recent years.”

“I suppose I’ll have to meet her anyway to keep my licence–the dormouse and shrew one.”

“Aye, it micht be a guid idea–she’s meeting me for lunch tomorrow, why don’t ye come tae?”

Part of me wanted to just run away and part wanted to get it over. The latter won and I agreed to go to lunch. I also discussed with Simon and Tom the sale of the land I’d surveyed.

“They want to build half a dozen luxury homes in the middle of nowhere? What for?” Simon wasn’t impressed.

“So people like Jeremy Clarkson can buy them.” My dislike of the Top Gear presenter was well known.

“Now, now–the hoi-polloi have to have someone to try to emulate,” Simon’s opinion wasn’t quite as cynical as mine.

“I hope they don’t, he hates cyclists.”

“Is that why you loathe him?”

“Partly, it’s also because he’s a sexist bigot.”

“That’s just his laddishness coming out.”

“He’s a bit old for that.”

“Sae, are ye gonna put in a bid fa thae land?” Tom brought us back to the real matter in hand.

“I’m tempted to put in an offer.”

“Have you actually got that sort of money to throw about?” Simon asked, “and if you bought it after surveying it for Natural England, could it be construed as a conflict of interest?”

“I hadn’t even thought of that–I suppose it could–damn, that’s me scuppered.” I shrugged and stood up to clear the table.

“There are ways to get round such accusations,” Simon smiled at me.

“I’m listening, go on.”

“The bank might be able to offer a long term low interest loan to a suitable wildlife charity.”

“How likely is that?”

“Depends upon how much they want for the land–more than a million will need to go to the board.”

“A million? I was thinking more in thousands.”

“If that’s the case, I should think it’s pretty likely.”

“So it needs to be a charity I have no association with, does it?”

“No, just not you buying it.”

“So, the local wildlife trust?”

“Why don’t ye wait an’ speak wi’ Helen tomorrow?”

“Oh okay, she should know the major players, shouldn’t she?”

“Aye, except ye–oor very ain superstarrr.” Tom rolled his Rs on the word star, so it sounded like a small motor.

“What’s the state of play with Miss Alcott?” I asked Simon.

“It’s gone very quiet, so she’s either scheming or discovered no matter what she does, we’ll crap all over her and has given up.”

“I hope it’s the latter, you just don’t know where you are with that woman, she’s crazy.”

“Teachers are inclined to be like that,” smirked Simon at both Tom and me. We ignored it, treating it with the contempt it deserved.

“What’re you going to wear tomorrow?” asked Simon as we lay in bed.

“Dunno, I suppose smart casual as I’m meeting them at Tom’s favourite restaurant.”

“Why not wear one of your suits–you’ve got so many lovely clothes and all you wear are your jeans.”

“I don’t want to overdo it, do I?”

“Overdo it? You’re an aristocrat’s wife, for God’s sake–they’re all one stop beyond Dagenham.”

“Ha ha, woof woof,” I said and he squeezed my boob. “Ouch, that hurt,” I hissed twisting his....too much detail? We called it a draw and agreed a truce.

However, the next morning after I took the girls to school, I got Stella to trim my hair and she persuaded me to put it up, so I let her do it. I always feel I look ten years older with my hair up–so I tend not to do it very often. Thankfully it wasn’t too fancy, just scooped up and held there with a large clip.

I wore my YSL blouse and Chanel suit, with black court shoes, I kept the makeup and jewellery very simple otherwise it would look as if I should have been heading for lunch at Claridges or Ritz. I did use some No 5, so at least it was in keeping with the suit.

I’d bought a clutch bag a while ago and never used it. It was black leather and matched my shoes, so I used it for a change–filling it with my Blackberry, purse, keys, lipstick, mirror and comb, and some tissues.

Sitting in the car, in the restaurant car park I felt albatrosses soaring in my tummy and immediately set about beating myself up with anger at feeling this way. I hadn’t transitioned last week it was nearly four years ago. I had an established position and full legal status–I even had to send my tax return to bloody Cardiff and on paper because they kept us ‘weirdos’ separate from the general riff-raff. Apparently, MPs and some Royals were also accorded such security. I suppose I shouldn’t complain, but it only happened after they changed my birth certificate via the gender recognition people, before that, I paid my tax in the same way as everyone else.

I could see Tom’s Freelander parked in the corner, so he was already in there having his Guinness and waiting for his chicken curry. I assumed Helen was there too, because it was twelve twenty nine. Oh well, here goes. I climbed out of the Mondeo and locked it, then sauntered into the restaurant. Tom was sitting with someone, she was behind a post so I couldn’t see her very well, just long dark hair and she was wearing something beige and orange patterned–yuck.

Tom waved me over and taking a deep breath I walked deliberately to his table. He stood up and I kissed him on the cheek. “Helen, allow me to present my daughter, Lady Catherine Cameron.” He spoke without much accent, so that confused me for a moment–had I stepped through into a parallel universe–was the doorway a portal in more senses than I’d suspected?

“Cathy, this is Dr Helen Maddison, our new Natural England officer.”

I offered my hand and she accepted it, shaking it gently. “I’m really pleased to meet you, I had no idea you were Professor Agnew’s daughter.”

“Sort of adopted daughter, Daddy took me under his wing after my parents died a few years ago.”

“I see. You did that amazing lecture at Sussex a year or two back, with all the boobs and things from your documentary–apart from being entertaining it showed you had tremendous confidence and belief in yourself and your subject. I was very impressed by it and never thought I’d get to meet you in person.”

“Why not?”

“Well, an aristocrat’s wife, acclaimed film maker, nationally renowned mammal expert and dormouse specialist–and there was I advising Severn Trent Water on pond-life in their reservoirs.”

“I’m sure it was a very important job–reservoirs are key for waterfowl and amphibians not to mention their surrounding land for all sorts of wildlife.”

“Yeah, well seeing how well you'd done for yourself, I decided being a woman was no handicap and I finished my doctorate at Nottingham and managed to talk my way into a job with Natural England. So, see where your example can inspire women to follow?”

I wasn’t expecting this and my albatrosses began to mix it with king condors. Why couldn’t she just have said, ‘You’ve done okay for a tranny, haven’t you?’ Now, I could be setting myself up as something I’m not and if ever she finds out, she’ll kill me.

Why me?

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