The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2032 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

So after all the hype, Wiggo is out of the Giro–oh well, better luck next time. The weekend went by in a blur–they always seem to, is it possible for time to run faster on weekends? I suppose if I were working in a shop or factory where I had to work on a Saturday or a Sunday, or heaven forefend, both; would I see the weekends in the same light, and would the time drag or fly?

David had the weekend off so guess who got to do the cooking? Wrong, we went out on the Saturday and on the Sunday, we went out again, just for a change. The Sunday was a traditional roast dinner with a couple of vegetables. It was a disaster. I mean, how do you mess up a roast dinner? Somehow, they had and in return got black looks and even blacker reports.

I had never seen Simon so angry with something as mundane as a meal. Had the manager been a bloke, I honestly think Si would have punched his lights out. Instead we had a reduction of the bill. Mind you it was pretty dire, and to think we could have gone down the road to a Harvester and had a carvery meal, it would have cost less and tasted better–or better still, next time I’ll cook. It’ll be cheaper and the quality will be good. We’d have had a better dinner at a transport cafe.

So suddenly, it was Sunday evening and I was thinking about what I had to do in work tomorrow–plenty. I had to sort out cover for my lecture and tutorial groups for next term. Usually this was the head of department’s job, but being promoted to reader meant I could share some of the admin. At least in the States I’d have been called an assistant professor–but then that gets a bit like Hogwarts, where everyone was a professor. What would I be? Professor of dormouse juggling and protection from the dark exams? I wanted to laugh out loud but then they’d think I was enjoying this.

Monday was really busy, apart from the retimetabling I was doing for different members of staff–which was a bit like a three dimensional chess game–shifting my own stuff seemed to have lower priorities and suddenly I felt like the headmistress of a large school–oh, if so and so isn’t available, I’ll cover that one. But I couldn’t, I had to keep time available for the university management board meetings, and they went on all morning, especially when budgets were being discussed–riveting stuff, yawn.

“Norma steps down in July and I take up the position from then. Officially the board only meets every couple of months unless there’s some crisis–like tuition fees isn’t one?–or it’s required to for some specific objective. It’s very unlikely and the board meets once during the summer vacation, which is when I expected to take up my position and replace Norma–if voted in.

Simon and Tom thought it was a very good move by the dean, and when I spoke with Henry, he agreed. He thought it an excellent time to do it and the bank board as it would enable me to borrow from each to inform the other. That sounded good in theory–but then most things do until you try to put them into practice. He also offered to loan me a book on running meetings. Apparently they should all follow certain protocols and what item of order has primacy over another. I knew the old one, point of order takes precedence over most things and that a point of information was very secondary but still a good way of affecting a meeting unless you do it too often and the chairman overrides it. I would have to try and keep a sense of balance and only disrupt those things I thought were very important. The first time I did it would be vitally important because it would set the scene for the rest of my time on the board–in periods of three years.

Three years–bloody hell, I’d have got less for murder from the Metropolitan police, they’d have probably let me off with a caution if the victim was black or gay or a woman.

When I got home on the Monday evening, I spoke with David about the meal for the Wednesday. I wanted something really nice.

“How about lobster, could do you a nice thermidor?”

“Ugh–I don’t want to eat something that was still alive when it went into the water.”

“That counts out crab as well then.”

“I don’t like crab anyway, or lobster if it comes to that.”

“Oysters?”

“God, they’re still alive when you eat them?”

“So is salad.”

“I don’t think cucumber has quite the same sensory equipment as a lobster.”

“Don’t you believe it, I’ve heard them scream when I sliced them for cucumber sandwiches.”

“I suppose the bread yelled a bit as well?” I added sarcastically.

“Only until the oven gets so hot it dies.”

“At this rate we’ll be having stale bread and water.”

“It’s cheap,” he smirked, “in this age of austerity.”

“Bugger that, I want a really nice meal, now either you’re going to cook one or I’ll do it my bloody self.”

“Poultry or game?”

“Do a salmon, a whole one or two if we need it.”

“Okay, starter?”

“Something light–um–pate?”

“Yeah–fine.”

“On thin toasted bread.”

“Sounds good.”

“Pudding–lemon and strawberry roulade.”

“Lovely.”

“Cheese board afterwards?”

“That would be good–though I hope I’ll be too full to indulge.”

“Nuffin’ like a good bit o’Cheddar,” he joked and I asked him to arrange some of that, a blue cheese and a soft one such as Brie.

“Wine?”

“You’re always accusing me of doing that,” I joked.

“I didn’t know you were a homophone,” he riposted.

“Only until I become a grammar,” I replied. We both laughed and then I killed him. Nah, he got away with being hanged, drawn and quartered but not on the same day.

The meal that evening was infinitely better than the Sunday roast had been and Simon actually smiled after eating it. It was braised steak with new potatoes and three vegetables. He said he enjoyed it and complimented David on a good meal.

David, who was in a funny mood, teased him and nearly got sacked. He told Simon that he’d come to an agreement with me whereas he’d only work Mondays to Fridays in future. Simon was not amused and David had to apologise. It was the first time that I saw a difference between family and employed persons, even though I’d tried to keep everyone in one bunch and called it, family. That faintly disturbed me–a year or two ago it would have greatly disturbed me–had I changed? I supposed I must have.

While the others were busy chatting after their meal, I was deep in thought. Had I changed, and by how much? Was it an evolutionary thing? By that I meant was I changing by growing into the role of a laird’s wife and also that of a university director teacher and bank director. Did it mean I was becoming removed from everyday people and thus decisions about them? That worried me considerably because I felt that once I saw individuals as simply numbers–they’d lose their humanity or I’d lose mine and they’d become collateral damage as the military terms it when some have to be sacrificed for the greater good. It’s peculiar how that always works in the favour of the power firing the bullets or dropping the bombs.

I had a feeling it could be a long night.