The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1993 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

We’d not been woken by Danny shouting in his sleep as had happened several times, so I wondered if Carly had worked a minor miracle on our son. He had seemed rather disappointed to see her go–young love–what a pity I had no personal experience of it. So if he comes to me for advice, I shall be about as much use as a Catholic priest offering advice on periods to a young woman.

After our energetic start to the day I showered and set off on my bike... like hell I did, I was too sore to ride one for at least a couple of hours. Even my jeans felt a bit hard down there, so I ended up in a skirt and boots to keep my feet warm.

The little sunshine that happened on the Easter Holiday Monday didn’t hang around for very long in the morning, but I did take Kiki out with a posse of girls because Tom seemed to feel a bit off colour. I think he might have caught this flu-like cold bug that was doing the rounds, so he went back to bed with some of his usual river mud coffee with a shot of single malt in it–it wid soon pit him richt. I hoped that was the case but I wasn’t holding my breath.

It felt quite strange wearing a skirt–a lined woollen mixture one in a green sort of plaid which came well down below my knees and my boots were some sensible brown ones with two inch heels–I can walk all day in those if necessary. Underneath the skirt I had on some fifty denier tights and above the skirt I wore a vest and jumper over my bra, and on top of that a thick fleece jacket. I was lagged like a vulnerable water pipe and consequently, within walking for twenty minutes, so about mile, I was sweltering despite the strong cool breeze.

The supermarkets all have to close on Easter and Christmas Days, although local shops can stay open. Normally the roads are fairly quiet though people must wonder what there is to do in life except spend money, especially on Sundays. In the contest between god and Mammon for Sunday worshippers, the latter won hands down.

It was probably about half past ten when we walked past Morrison’s and I bought us some drinks from the shop at the petrol station. We finally got home an hour later and everyone except Kiki had to run to the loo–a combination of the drink and the cold wind.

Simon and Danny had been out in the garden and Stella and Jacquie had been keeping an eye on Tom, while Julie and Phoebe were still in bed–they’d stayed up watching some film the night before–typical teenagers.

Simon and Dan had been digging in the part of the vegetable patch we use for potatoes. As there was a frost forecast that night, Simon suggested it would help to break up the lumps in the soil. They were also digging in a whole load of rotted horse manure. Apparently they finished just before we got home and still had roses in their cheeks from the wind.

The little ones had been playing and had used Julie’s best handbag as a pot of some sort, because they emptied the contents out behind the sofa and then somehow filled it with water which they were heating on Puddin’s play cooker.

How it was discovered was quite funny. Julie saw her bag standing on top of Pud’s cooker walked up and snatched it up towards her thereby splashing water all over herself. She went ballistic as it was quite a valuable bag, I think Stella might have given it to her, so a price tag in the hundreds was highly probable. It was a Mulberry or Chloe or something–can’t remember, mine’s a Stella McCartney and I know it’s worth a small fortune.

Julie and Stella had an up and downer over it. “Why can’t you keep your brats under control–look, they’ve ruined my bag.”

“If I remember, kiddo, it started off as my bag–so it’s not as if you paid anything for it. Besides, one of yours was involved as well–so instead of staying in bed, you could have got up and lent a hand. Perhaps you should have taken it upstairs with you last night.”

“I was so tired, I forgot, all right?”

“So, I think it might be more your fault than mine,” Stella seemed to have the stronger case by my reckoning, but Julie still ranted and raved for several minutes, wanting to murder the three babies responsible.

When she complained to me, I told her off for leaving it downstairs, and to be thankful the kids didn’t use her mobile and purse as vegetables in their soup–she nearly exploded at that. When she calmed down I told her to stuff it with newspaper and put it on the shelf over the Aga. I had a modicum of sympathy for her, it was a very nice leather bag, but she should have taken better care of it. I did caution her against retaliatory action against any of the children concerned which would result in me doing the same to her.

“That’s right, side against the victim in all this,” she spat at me.

“Julie, for goodness sake, we’re talking about babies–how are they to know better? And the way you’re creating such a scene, what will they learn from that? How to really wind you up?”

“But I was going out tonight and was going to use my bag.”

“You’ve got half a dozen other ones, use one of them and stop whingeing.”

That seemed to press the lift off button, as she was last seen talking loudly to herself as she went back up to her room. To some extent I was hoist by my own petard when I went upstairs and realised the same gang of three had used a red lipstick to draw on the light maple wood of my dressing table and wardrobe. My initial response was to hang the three of them, but once the anger subsided, I collected them all up and told them in very direct terms that I would be very cross if any of them did anything like it again. I slammed the wardrobe door to emphasise my point, caught a plastic coat hanger with it and the piece that flew off nearly decapitated Puddin’ who ran off screaming.

The third item of vandalism by the gang of three was to shove a piece of buttered bread in the video player, which they were using as a toaster. Simon discovered this when he went to play something on it and found it was rather messy in the DVD drawer.

Julie’s bag dried off over a couple of days and I rubbed in a bit of good beeswax polish for her–it looked as good as new, although there were one or two water marks on the lining–but no one would see them except her.

I did manage to speak to Danny for a few minutes in between sorting out the damage the trio of monsters had wreaked and getting tea–David only did lunch–he had really enjoyed himself with Carly and was sure he wasn’t gay. I didn’t mention any of what I’d discussed with Peter, who I thought was in need of a long session with a good shrink.