The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1967 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Simon was still asleep when I rose and dressed in my cycling kit, after which I roused Danny. He actually got up immediately which astonished me, and I suspect, surprised him as well. I made him have some breakfast before we left. He wasn’t too sure about it, but I insisted. It wasn’t like I was trying to get him to eat a full English, just a bowl of cereal and a drink of juice, while I had my banana on a couple of slices of toast and cup of tea.

It was eight o’clock when we stole out of the house and into the bike shed, where a quick check later, we were mounting our steeds and heading down the road. I suggested we ride round to Hayling Island and back and he agreed.

Eight o’clock on an early March morning is damned cold, and the wind coming in off the sea didn’t help at all, being an easterly; but I hoped we’d have it at our backs on the return trip.

An hour later we found a cafe open which did breakfasts, and I had a poached egg on toast while Danny wolfed down the bacon sandwich he’d ordered. We paused while I drank the two cups of tea which the pot provided and we warmed up a bit as well–then it was back to the bikes and the return.

It was about ten when we got back to the house and wiped the bikes down. The other children were indignant because we hadn’t taken them–the sad truth was they wouldn’t have coped, yet Danny really enjoyed himself–and so did I. It made me dream of more riding despite knowing the reality of not having the time. It’s my own fault. If I want to have children and work, I have to give up my time to do so. Simon has told me more than once that I don’t need to work, but I like to remain independent, possibly because I don’t believe the fairy tale will necessarily have a happy ending, and I need to have my own resources to fall back upon.

Seriously, if he was to find someone he loved more than he does me, I’d let him go for a few million to guarantee the children’s futures, not the tens of millions I could sue him for in a divorce.

Does part of me expect the bubble to burst one day, or to find that the whole thing was a delirium while expiring in a hedgerow because Stella didn’t stop and hypothermia got me, or my injuries were worse than I thought?

That would show a rational answer to the question about the healing and the Shekinah business. It was all a dream, my imagination and the endorphins produced by a dying brain–because nothing else seems to explain it unless I consider the unthinkable, the female face of the god I don’t believe exists anyway–sort of ten per cent of nothing, is still nothing. How anyone can believe in the sky pixies baffles me unless they have some sort of insight I don’t, or evidence which they’re keeping very quiet. Or as I suspect is the truth, they enjoy their delusions–good for them. I have one that suggests man will stop acting like an ape and begin to become civilised and cooperative and stop overpopulating and exploiting this planet, but begin to live in harmony with it and its other denizens. Yeah, sure–more chance of a lump of god they can examine in a laboratory. I doubt man will ever transcend the bestial and truly fulfil his potential–that we are gods and goddesses in our own right, except we need to work together for a common good from which we’d all benefit–yeah it sounds like socialism, probably because it is, but not in the political sense.

Oh well until then we’ll stick with small mindedness and greed and when we destroy the planet and verge on extinction, someone might get the idea of how they could have saved themselves and the world–sadly it will be too late, and the ape with the big brain will disappear and every other living thing will rejoice, the plague has passed. For those who hadn’t guessed it, I prefer dormice to people, they’re far less threatening.

After my shower, I was dressing when Trish headed the delegation of angry young women. “So are you going to do anything with us, then?” she asked dismissively.

“Yeah, I thought we could sit with Daddy and watch the rugby.”

“What?” she gasped. The others looked just as shocked. “I don’ wanna watch stupid rugby.”

“So what would you like to do?”

“I’d liked to have gone for a bike ride.” The others muttered their agreement.

“Okay, after lunch we’ll do a bike ride.”

They all nodded.

“Right, off you go and play, have you done your homework?” They seemed to disperse very quickly as I asked that. I finished my dressing and took Catherine with me to do some shopping. I left the girls playing some board game with Jacquie, who waved discreetly as we went past.

Now she was walking outside, I needed to get Catherine a pair of proper shoes and I wanted them fitted correctly. It took an hour to park the car and get to the shop but we managed it and I bought a pair of ankle boots they had in the sale, black with a two inch heel. They felt quite comfortable.

Then it was back home to see what David had concocted for us to eat. It wasn’t what I expected–Simon and Tom had talked him into making a curry. As Stella and I are the only ones who don’t like it, we had to make do with jacket potatoes–guess who had tuna and coleslaw? One day I shall ask him for trouser or even skirt potatoes, as he claims to tailor the food to our need. We enjoy teasing each other in that regard which shows how secure he feels with us–thank goodness.

Ingrid had run through the place with the vacuum cleaner because she wanted Monday off for something at Hannah’s school, so at least the place looked clean before the monster moggie destroyed it all again. I gave her a ball of wool which disappeared–I wondered if she knitted herself a jumper–turned out to have become wedged under the sofa. So it could be that the story she told me about being super-clever, was a downright fib. Never trust a smiling cat, especially a young ’un.

I changed into cycling tights again and went to get the bikes out while the girls bickered about something or other. I left them to it because to intervene meant I got cross and then they all united against the common enemy–me.

I got the mountain bike out which I hoped meant I could stay with them if they suddenly disappear down through hedges or farm tracks–in Portsmouth–no up the road a couple of miles–where? I Havant a clue.

Once we’d pumped up tyres and checked brakes we set off on the second stage of the TdF, well you’d think it was the way Trish and Livvie were racing each other. I shouted for them to stop but they weren’t listening–now where have they gone?