The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2057 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“So are you planning to make contact with this Cindy girl?” asked Si getting back into bed.

“If I do it could blow my cover plus that of Trish, so I won’t unless it becomes absolutely necessary. Besides, she needs to grow up in her own world, her own family without knowing lots of transgender people.”

“I thought you might keep a watching brief for her.”

“Why? She’s probably done alright this far.”

“I just thought you had a mission to protect all transsexuals and dormice.”

“Nooo,” I said with emphasis, “just transsexual dormice.”

“Ah, I was close.”

“And anachronisms like endangered Scottish aristocrats.”

“Anachronism? You hateful woman you.”

“Yeah, I have to take care they don’t become extinct, so I have to check their breeding equipment every so often, make sure nothing is worn beneath the kilt.”

“Oh, it’s all in perfect working order,” he said his voice rising slightly in pitch as I moved my hand...

He was fast asleep by the time I returned from the bathroom and a little wash, I was wide awake and sat watching him sleep for some time. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to adequately describe how much I love this man, though at times I could willingly murder him.

Take for instance last week. I sent him out to get a case of toilet rolls–there are quite a few of us and several toilets, so I wanted something like forty eight rolls, he came back with a batch of four rolls and a case of wine–it was on special offer. I told him that unless he wanted to wipe his bum on a bottle to go and get me another load of toilet rolls and nothing else.

This time he got sixty rolls and two pounds of Gruyere cheese–it was on special offer. He’s hopeless–the week before he came back with a dozen tins of cat food. We have a kitten who takes days to eat one tin. He accused me of underfeeding her. If she has any more she’ll need castors on her belly to move it around, she’s getting quite plump.

After the toilet roll fiasco, I found a place on line that will deliver such things, free of charge for orders over fifty pounds. Given that I got discount for bulk buying, I bought two hundred. It nearly filled my bike shed.

Talking of bikes, I did manage a short ride before the rain started the morning I met the old lady. A quick ten miles, nip into town for Trish’s book and a present for Father’s Day. Actually, I had to buy two, one for Tom and one for Si.

They’re both difficult to buy for, they have most of what they want but I did find some inspiration in the Guardian, and got Simon a British Lions rugby shirt–he likes to loaf about in them at weekends. Tom, I bought a new blotter for his study and he thinks he lost his favourite fountain pen, but I ‘borrowed’ it and sent it off to be serviced. It came back this morning, I followed the Royal Mail van into the drive when I came back from my ride.

David agreed to do a really nice dinner on Sunday for the two men and I told the girls what we were doing. I know Julie had bought them both something small, Tom some new secateurs to trim his roses–well my roses, to be exact–but I let him look after them for me. Simon, I think she said, was getting some obscure DVD of an Abba concert back before I was born, I think. I told her I thought he’d like it and to take a chance on me. Sadly, she missed the joke but then she’s more interested in Robbie Williams and Adele, neither of whom I’d give house room. Then, music is a question of taste, which means if you like the same things that I do, then you have taste–if you don’t, you are singularly lacking in it.

I mused again on this Cindy girl. I think was right to leave her alone, if she’s survived this long without being part of the scene, then I think she should be left alone to find her own way. It could also compromise Trish’s status, which recently has been harder to keep secret simply because her intellect is making her noticed, as were her footballing skills.

Given that she makes Isaac Newton look a bit dim, and she can bend it like Beckham, she is becoming noticed. Part of her thrives on it, part of her is quite shy. So this run in with the teacher won’t have done her any favours.

No matter how much I ask her not to question everything they say, she does. It’s going to backfire on her one of these days and she could end up being expelled. Despite her huge brain size, she seems unable to see things right in front of her. I remember once trying to get her to see a bird she hadn’t ever seen before. By the time she was ready it had long since flown. She kept looking all round but where I was trying to show her, over complicating things when simplicity is best.

However, she seems to drink up their bible-classes and has become quite an authority in her own right–hence the arguments with the nuns, several of whom are rather fundamentalist in their interpretations and she runs rings round them–partly because she can memorise pages of the bible especially if it’s something current in their arguments.

She did quite a bit of research on Deuteronomy when she knew it as coming up and she was able to give estimates of dates and so on. She was as up on Tyndale as Lord Bragg, who did a programme on him the other week. It was very good as most things that Melvyn Bragg turns his hand to are.

I was surprised to see that they were predicting Tony Robinson was going to receive a knighthood in the queen’s birthday honours–he apparently said he’d kill any dragons he met and rescue any damsels in distress. I suspect he’s funnier in real life than in fiction.

And how did I know about his gong? I couldn’t sleep and ended up with my MP3 player on the radio–the World Service and they reported it. Oh well, maybe I can sleep now?