The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1835 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I cleared up the breakfast mess and David came in to prepare the Sunday lunch. I prefer to eat my main meal in the evening but Simon likes a blow out at lunch on a Sunday so he can sleep it off all afternoon. I could hear the buzz of the hedge trimmer–it’s a petrol one on a long handle and it slices through most things once you get it started.

I’ve only ever used an electric one, which is less powerful and of course needs a cable to supply the juice. The advantage of the motor one is that you don’t need the cable, so there is no chance of cutting through it. They don’t let me use the petrol trimmer or strimmer, because they reckon they’re too heavy for me. Not being much of a gardener, it doesn’t worry me. They may also be correct because these days I don’t seem to have much muscle anyway, and what I had the oestrogen seems to have eaten. Use it or lose it, they say; I think I might have lost it.

I got Trish and Livvie to help me strip their beds and we got the laundry out an hour later. There didn’t seem to be as much warmth in the sun today, but I hoped they’d dry. All the linen smells so much nicer if it’s line dried. Despite all the excitement of yesterday, Jacquie had done the other beds–we have a two week rota–unless Simon and I have been–um–you know–is it hot in here or what?

You’re not interested in my laundry arrangements, but shows that we still have things to do around the house even if we are a bit stinking rich. Tom retired to his study with my draft dissertation. He obviously couldn’t assess it anyway, but he’s seen quite a few of them in his day and could offer me some guidelines. It has to be at the university by the end of the month, and I could expect my viva by the end of November. So I’ve plenty to do between now and then.

I was brought back to the present by Livvie, who offered to polish the dining table. I nodded and she went off to get the dusters and beeswax. I think I’ve mentioned the table before. Apart from being big with capacity to grow even bigger if the central leaf is added, it’s also quite old and made of solid wood unlike these veneered things one gets today. The wood is walnut and to replace would cost thousands. The matching chairs–there are eight of them, with another eight we keep in the cupboard–the latter are later pieces but quite close in design. All the chairs are oak or beech, can’t remember which, but they look lovely when they’re all out around the table with a nice cloth on it and a decent table centre to set it off.

Livvie went off to do the polishing while Trish operated the washing machine and the dishwasher–she’d filled both and would be responsible for getting Jacquie to help her put the dishes away and hang out the laundry. Meems was on baby-sitting duty with Stella, and Sammi was cleaning upstairs while I vacuumed downstairs.

By the time we’d finished, the smells from the kitchen were amazing. David had done a bread-mix for the machine which was enough in itself, so what he was doing with meat and stuff, I hated to think, but I kept salivating and my tummy was rumbling and we still had half an hour to go before we ate.

“God that smells so good,” said Stella, bringing down some dirty nappies to soak in the utility room. “What is it?”

“I’m not sure, every so often it smells of bacon, then lamb or steak or sausages–I have no idea–and the bread makes me feel ravenous.”

“To hell with it, I’m going to go and see what he’s cooking.” Stella went off with the nappies and I continued moving furniture and vacuuming in the corners. By the time I got to the dining room, Livvie was putting away her dusters and I congratulated her on a good job.

I helped her put the cloth on the table and she went out in the garden to cut some flowers for the table decoration. I quickly whizzed over the room with the cleaner and then did the hallway and I was finished.

At twelve thirty I called the boys in to wash their hands, and sent the girls to do the same. Julie and Phoebe had been cleaning the inside of the windows and they’d finished the bedrooms when I called. They can do downstairs next week.

Fifteen minutes later David rolled in the hostess trolley and showed us what he’d been up to–a mixed grill with sautéd potatoes, grilled sliced tomatoes and mushrooms, and some baked beans.

All the smells we’d recognised were due to the variety of stuff he’d cooked: lamb chops, small steaks of beef, liver and kidneys, bacon and sausage. There were also fried onions, which can make me salivate even when I’ve just eaten.

For the next half an hour we all just stuffed. To my amazement, everything was eaten and I also had a glass of wine–which usually makes me sleepy at lunch time–but didn’t today, perhaps because it was Prosecco–a dry sparkling Italian wine, the corks of which when released nearly broke the light fitting as they popped like champagne corks.

I’d watched what I’d eaten, or thought I had, but still felt as if I’d eaten a whole sheep so decided to go for a walk while it was still fine. Simon declared he had more hedge trimming to do, so Danny got volunteered as well. I felt sorry for the lad having to pick up garden rubbish after what he’d eaten.

Only the younger girls decided to join me, so Trish, Meems, Livvie and I went for a walk and while we were out had an ice cream–we hadn’t had a sweet with dinner, it was too filling by itself. We walked for some ninety minutes and I felt tired when we got back–tea was going to be something on toast–but that was the last thing on my mind as I nodded off in the chair in my study.

“There y’are,” Tom poked his head round my door waking me.

“Sorry, Daddy, I must have nodded off.”

“Aye, jest a wee bit.”

I looked at the clock and realised it was nearly time for tea, and I was still tired and feeling full. He handed me the draft dissertation. “It needs some work,” was all he said and I felt ready to burst into tears. I didn’t expect him to do it for me, but he could have been more helpful.

I felt like flinging the file across the room. So that was it–needs more work–sums up my life, that statement. I felt a bit of water escape my eyelids which were brimming and by the time I’d got the tissues out, I felt like howling. I restricted my feelings to a few sniffs and the odd sob but my eyes leaked for quite a time. All that effort and still, ‘it needs some work.’ I felt like telling him what he could do with his degree and his university.

Once I’d stopped feeling sorry for myself, I dried my eyes which were now stinging. Sammi came to see if I wanted some tea, “I did come earlier but you were fast asleep. Are you alright?” she asked noting my red rimmed eyes.

I explained what had happened. “Can I see it?” she asked picking up the now inadequate document. “Gosh, there’s a lot of margin notes.”

“What?” I gasped snatching it back from her. The notes in pencil, were advice and editing, positive criticisms and suggestions. All I had to do was to include these in the draft and it should be more or less finished. Poor Daddy, he’d spent the whole afternoon reading and commenting on it page by page. I felt ashamed of my first reaction, perhaps I’d been half asleep and thus over sensitive to his comment. His comments looked as if they would put the final gloss on it. Oh dear, I do not so much jump to conclusions as rocket to them.

At the end he’d written, ‘On the whole this is very good, but needs some polishing and a little revision–congratulations, they’ll love it.’

Sammi looked at me and we both smiled then burst into tears as only women can when they are happy.