The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1887 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I sat down with the new computer and played around with it. I saw one of the cards which hadn’t been coated with baby sauce and had an idea. Half an hour later I’d managed to copy the card onto a program which would print them out as business cards with crop marks. All I needed to do then was cut some of them up until I could order them from a proper printer.

That took me a bit longer but I managed to do about fifty of them–which would probably do me for a lifetime anyway. I mean, I’d not needed them before so why now? It’s not like it used to be when people gave their card to the butler to be announced or while waiting to find out if Lord so and so was at home.

They looked good enough to fool Simon if he asked and would do the trick if I needed one. I popped a couple in my purse and a couple more in my lap top bag. By now I had to collect the girls and the rush hour traffic, or more correctly, the school run traffic was especially dense today–it was the rain I suppose–mustn’t let the little darlings get wet, they might grow or smell or something.

When I got to the school three forlorn faces were peering out from the front door as I trotted across the play yard my umbrella being blown by the rather cold wind. They spotted me and waving goodbye to someone. They ran out to meet me and we all dashed back to the car. The journey home was just as slug like, as everyone with a car seemed to driving about Portsmouth.

“You were late,” pouted Trish.

“You can see for yourself what the traffic is like,” was my retort.

“We thought you weren’t coming, neither did Sister Maria.”

“I’m sorry, but things outside my control prevented me from getting here sooner.”

The look she gave me seemed to indicate she didn’t altogether believe me. Instead of heading for home, I drove to Danny’s school which was just emptying out. Livvie volunteered to get him and hared across the yard and into the building. A few minutes later she was rushing back with my son.

“I didn’t expect a lift, Mum, but it’s a nice surprise,” he said, clambering into the front of the car.

“I thought it would save you getting wet walking from the bus stop.”

“Kewel,” he said and switched on the radio. It was rather loud pop which I immediately turned down, causing moans from the back seat. I tried to ignore it and managed to do so for the first song they played. Then they played one I liked, Whitney Houston’s, I will always love you probably because I could remember cuddling up with Simon to watch, The Bodyguard. He thought it was a bit naff, but then he doesn’t like Kevin Costner after he messed up Robin Hood.

I just had to join in and suddenly Whitney and I were singing together before an astonished audience of my children. The traffic was going so slowly I had no worry of keeping an eye on the road while singing. Seeing Trish’s expression in the rear view mirror was gorgeous. She didn’t know quite what to think as I managed to hit the high notes as well as the deceased diva whose music they were playing.

The next song was one they all knew and they sang along while I mused on the fate of the late Whitney Houston, who was a beautiful young woman with a lovely voice but whose fame and fortune seemed to damage her as it has with so many stars. It seemed ignominious that such a talent ended in a bathtub in a hotel when she drowned after taking various drugs including cocaine. What a waste.

Finally we got home and after sending them up to change and do their homework, I got them a drink each and a small cake which David had made that afternoon. I had one with a cup of tea and they were delicious.

I was back in my study doing my homework when Trish came in to ask me about her homework and she spotted my new computer. She liked the colour, but asked why I didn’t have a Mac.

“Peter didn’t have one, so I got this.”

“Where’s the old one?”

“He’s taken it off to repair, I hope.”

“Oh, so what’s the spec on this then?”

“I don’t know, and care even less. It’s a computer, it works and it does all I want it to. I don’t play computer games nor wish to.”

“Pity, your keyboard skills would be better.” She chuckled and ran off before I could shove her into the DVD drive.

“My keyboard skills are fine,” I said to myself trying to reassure myself it was true. It might have been, but her comment had undermined my confidence a little.

I heard Daddy come in and I told him I’d speak with him after dinner if that was convenient. He nodded, and Simon, who’d not long arrived with Sammi, asked if that was about the reserves. When I said it was, he nodded. “You going to do it then?”

“I’m thinking of it,” was as much as I’d confirm.

“Good girl.” He winked and went up to change from his suit into some casual clothes.

Sammi nodded at me as she went up to change as well, “Why do women wear heels all day?” she sighed as she went past me.

“I don’t know, why do women wear heels all day?”

“I was hoping you could tell me–my feet are killing me.”

I smirked. She was like a lath and probably only weighed about nine stone dripping wet, so if her feet were sore–well. I had some gel insert things she could try which I went to get just after she went upstairs.

Simon was pulling his jeans on as I entered the bedroom, I smiled and went to the drawer where I kept the gel pads. “I thought my luck was in then,” he called as I went back through the door.

“Good job you didn’t buy a lottery ticket then,” I called back as I climbed the stairs up to Sammi’s room. I knocked on her door and entered, “Try these, they might help.” I handed her the gel pads which go inside the stocking or tights and only pad under the ball of your foot so can supposedly be worn with court type shoes.

She’d actually worn boots today, but they had quite a heel, and I doubted if they had much more room in them than shoes. If they did she could buy some insoles to help cushion her feet or wear lower heels. She was over eighteen, so didn’t need my advice, although I did suggest she got some lower heels.

“They don’t look so smart do they, Mummy?”

“Yeah, but if you damage your feet with silly heels you won’t look very smart anyway, will you? Limping about like an arthritic crab?

“Ugh,” was her response but I was back out the door and on my way downstairs to help David sort out dinner.

I will always love you. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3JWTaaS7LdU