The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1748 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“So do we let them go with Henry and Monica?” I asked my newly masterful hubby.

“D’you have any real objections?” he threw back at me.

“Only the logistics of making sure they all have passports. Does Jacquie have one?”

“How do I know? You’re the one who employed her originally.”

“I’ll ask her, besides does she want to go?”

“Is the baby going?” he asked almost hoping I’d say yes.

“No, what would she get out of such a trip apart from heatstroke?”

“Well Stella’s taking her two.”

“Yes, she breast feeds Fiona and Pud might just be old enough to have some fun.”

“She could feed Catherine for us.”

“What d’ya think these are for?” I pointed at my chest.

“Li’l ol’ me, mummykins,” he said rolling his eyes. I didn’t even answer him except with a shake of my head.

“So they can go?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“What about Sammi?”

“She wants to work and the IT manager was keen to have her work with him.”

“I take it she’ll go with you, back and fore?”

“Might as well.”

“So, you’re not taking any time off then?”

“I’ll see what I can arrange, perhaps a long weekend next week.”

“How about zipping over to see some of the Tour?”

“What tour?”

“The Tour.”

“Nah, doesn’t ring any bells,” he teased trying to play stupid, but the twinkle in his eyes gave away his deception.

“Oh well, I’ll have to get my lover to take me.”

“Yeah, carry on–see if I care.”

“Oh, what about Sammi?”

“What about Sammi?” he asked looking perplexed.

“We’d have to take her with us, I suppose.”

“Tom will still be here, with the dog, so it’s not as if she’d be alone at night, is it? You could organise a season ticket to Waterloo.”

“You’d better ask her.”

“I’ll go and ask her while you tell the rest of them they can go if they behave themselves between now and their holiday. Any messing and they don’t go.”

“That would mean we couldn’t go either, babes.”

“Well sometimes it hurts to hold principles.”

“But it’s The Tour.” He made that annoying gesture of quotation marks with his fingers.

“Okay, a bit of menace can sometimes be useful in getting them to toe the line.”

I went off to speak with Sammi who was quite happy to get herself to London and back, especially as I handed her the keys for the scooter, so she could get to the station and back without too much trouble.

I asked her about food, because if Tom did the catering, she’d have to like curries or starve. She said she could make a snack for herself when she came home and she’d get something for lunch in the staff restaurant.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Course I am, Mummy, you and Daddy take Catherine with you and have some time together. You certainly deserve to have some relaxation. We don’t appreciate you anywhere near as much as we should.”

I nearly fell over. “Now, let me get Julie and Stella and I think we need to have that talk about dealing with boys.”

“Do we need Auntie Stella?” she asked.

“To be fair, she’s had even more practice than I have in dealing with boys.” So, some ten minutes later we had a conference around the kitchen table, with the door shut, so we weren’t disturbed. Si put the girls to bed and he and Danny watched the telly. I think Tom was in there too, but he doesn’t watch it very much–he’s apparently writing an autobiography. When Trish asked who was it about, I had to run to the loo and bite the towel.

She was still looking confused so I sat with her and tried to help her work it out. “What’s a biography?” I asked.

“A book about someone.”

“Who wrote it?”

“I dunno, do I?”

“It could be anyone, now what does auto mean?”

“A car.”

I hadn’t quite thought of that, “Okay, what else can it mean?”

“I auto do my homework?” she smirked.

“Don’t be silly. Auto can also mean relating to the individual, meaning I or me, it’s Greek I think, so autobiography means?”

“You wrote it, so whose are you writing?”

Sometimes for someone with an IQ in the stratosphere she can be pretty dumb.

“No, silly, it means Gramps is writing his own life story. That’s what autobiography means.”

“Oh, I see now,” she beamed at me. I wondered if the nuns found their religion a help after dealing with Trish for a couple of hours–I mean do they go to confession and admit wanting to strangle her?

“Mummy?”

“Yes, darling?”

“I understand that, so what does auto-roticism, mean?”

“Auto what?”

“Auto-roticism, I think?”

“You don’t mean auto eroticism, do you?”

“Yeah, that’s the word.”

“Where did you see or hear that?”

“On the internet.”

“I thought I told you not to visit adult sites,” I also thought we had a filter to prevent her accessing them.

“I wasn’t, I was readin’ somethin’ on psychology about transsexuals, and I saw that word.”

“Okay, this might not make too much sense, but basically, it means have erotic times by yourself.”

“Is rotic sex, Mummy?”

“Erotic is mean to mean love, but it tends to be cheapened to mean sex these days.”

“So does that mean sex by yourself?”

I felt myself getting hotter, if she was winding me up, I’d lock her in a cupboard for two weeks while the others were in Menorca. “Yes.”

“How can you have sex by yourself, Mummy. I thought it needed another person?”

“There are ways, I believe,” I was not blushing about as red as a tomato.

“Are there, will you show me when I’m older?”

I choked for a moment–I think I swallowed my tonsils. When I could articulate again, “I think we’ll leave this until you’re a bit older.”

“Oh, okay, Mummy,” she turned to leave then stopped and delivered the killer blow. “Mummy, what’s a wanker?”

I felt my blood pressure double. “Where did you hear that?”

“Daddy called someone it the other day in the car.”

“Did he now?”

“It’s just a term of abuse.”

“Like bugger?”

Sometimes I wonder if she’s a changeling left here by a particularly malevolent bunch of fairies.

“Yes, now go and do your homework.”

“Okay, I’ll bugger off, then.”

Once again I was left floundering by an eight year old who knows far too much and understands too little because of her age, and sometimes I think she does like to wind me up. I’m fair skinned so I blush like a fire engine and I also get flustered at times, especially when embarrassed. Quite what would have happened had she stayed in the home or with her original parents, I hate to think–but either mental illness or criminality would have probably arisen if she survived long enough.