The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1811 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Can you keep a bit of an eye on Phoebe if I nod off?” I asked Jacquie who agreed quite happily.

“She’s a nice kid isn’t she, and she got on really well with Sammi as well as Julie.”

“She’s been here a couple of times so she knows the younger girls too, and Danny just stands around and gawps at her. Mind you she is quite pretty and has a bit more up top than Julie–and for a brain swimming with testosterone–big boobs are important.”

Jacquie laughed, “No wonder he doesn’t give me a second look then.”

“Doesn’t he now–that shows how much you know then, and if my eyes don’t deceive me, you’ve grown a bit since they put you on HRT.”

“Goodness, you do have good sight, it’s about a centimetre.”

“That’s better than shrinking that much.”

“That's true,” she said and began loading the dishwasher.

“I wonder what time she’ll be back?” I asked Jacquie about Phoebe, who’d gone with Julie to the salon and was going to have a bit of a tidy up trim.

I fed Little Cate and discovered that my milk hadn’t dried up as I’d feared, but she’d soon sucked me dry. After this she toddled around giggling like something possessed, following Puddin’ who was also making similar noises. They seemed to play well together, so apart from making sure they hadn’t dismembered the kitten or hurt themselves, I left them much to their own devices.

I left Stella to watch the reduced flock–Danny and the girls were in school–courtesy of Tom, and I did promise to try and do some more of the survey. No matter how much I promise myself that’s what I’m going to do, I always end up becoming distracted by the internet–usually the Guardian site–today, a Monday, I did the quick crossword and then the cryptic. I’m a bit out of practice, but I did manage the Rufus puzzle in under an hour–so not too bad. The phone rang and I answered it, having just finished the crossword.

“Cathy, it’s Phoebe, d’you mind if I stay with Julie? The apprentice has gone sick and I’m helping doing hairwashes and tidying up.”

“Is that what you’d like to do, today?” I asked her.

“I guess so.”

“Fine, but if you get fed up, give me a call and I’ll come and get you–oh and don’t let her coerce you into doing it if you don’t like it or want to; okay?”

“No, it was my idea–I’ve helped out at a local salon at home a couple of times. I don’t think I’d want to do it for a living, but y’know it brings in some pocket money.”

“Fine, but let me know if you change your mind.”

“I won’t–thanks, Cathy.” She rang off and I felt a bit of a weight off my shoulders. I hoped that Julie hadn’t set her up just to keep out from under my feet. When we got home last evening I was knackered and I hadn’t done very much except drive a bit. My chest was easier, but I still got out of puff on exertion. I gave up with the survey and taking my inhaler with me, slipped across to the bike workshop and I did a few minutes on the turbo. I was gasping for breath, but after a short rest and use of my inhaler, I went again, this time I managed a quarter of an hour. I rested and did some more, making up an hour and a half altogether. I crawled back to the house and went to my study where I zonked for two hours. I can’t win.

David woke me with a cuppa–so any analogies to Sleeping Beauty end there. He also told me he’d made Cornish pasties for dinner which we’d have with chips and peas. I felt disappointed, he was capable of so much better than that until he told me we had poached salmon for lunch–in half an hour. I’d have thought he got the menus the wrong way round–but he said he’d asked Simon and the kids which they preferred for dinner–pasties won out.

With Simon, anything with chips would have won, and the kids are as bad, even though they all know better. Still, they haven’t had them for a few days, at least as far as I know, which means nothing. I reconciled myself that they’d burn it off in school, especially Trish who was down to play football this afternoon–they’re picking the under eleven side, and I told her if she wasn’t picked I’d make her do football until she finished university. She believed me.

I strolled into lunch–the fish was done in milk and was delicious with new potatoes and salad. Tom had agreed to check the dormice–how did I manage to get him to do that? By gasping for breath when I had to dash upstairs for Trish’s football boots. He took one look at me and told me, “Tae bide at hame, I’ll check yer blessed tree rats.”

I nodded my thanks, which means he’ll show Pippa what to do and she’ll have to do it tomorrow. At that moment, I didn’t care, I felt so exhausted.

Dr Smith came past at lunch time and guess what? David found him some food so he was well pleased; at least he was with the food, my breathing was another matter. “If you aren’t a bit better tomorrow, then it’s back to hospital with you.”

I groaned which made me cough and cough, and then just for luck, I coughed some more. He made me spit into a container which he would send to the lab. He also gave me a different antibiotic to use. “No booze with this one, okay?”

I nodded and coughed some more–well why waste the opportunity? Jacquie got my pills and Cate sat one side of me, Puddin’ the other and we all three fell asleep for half the afternoon. Stella went to collect the girls, leaving David in charge of the three weenies. He loved it, especially as he’d finished the dinner earlier, except the chips.

We were woken by Trish and Livvie racing in to see how I was. “Where’s Pheebs?” they asked almost in unison.

“At the salon, acting as the apprentice.”

“Like on the telly?”

“Eh?”

“The one with that bloke you don’t like.” That probably meant half those who do appear on the box.

“Which bloke is that?”

“Dunno his name, but he does the prentice.”

“Oh, Alan Sugar–can’t stand him.”

The girls chuckled, they’d pressed the right buttons and were waiting for the show to begin, instead I coughed and they got fed up with that almost as quickly as I did.

Phoebe came home with Julie and they were just in front of Tom, who beat Simon and Sammi. The pasties were nicer than any I’d ever eaten before, with a suet shortcrust pastry and the chips were delicious, if the smell of them wasn’t.

“You have a chef?” gasped Phoebe when I explained who David was.

“Yeah, we do.”

“Wait till I tell ’em I went to stay with my brother’s posh friends who have like, their own chef. You don’t have a butler as well?”

“Um, no–and we’re not that posh. I mean it’s not like all the pot plants have doilies under them, is it?”

She laughed herself silly at that one. “Now I know what to get you for Christmas.”

“Don’t you dare,” I shouted back and then regretted it.