The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2078 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

It was Saturday morning and somehow it happened far too early. I’d not got to bed until one in the morning after feeding Lizzie, and Simon and the girls were up far too early. They were worked up because they were now on holiday and he was because he was going to the rugby club to watch the Lion’s match in Australia. Part of me would have felt a bit miffed if I hadn’t been so perishing tired.

I played truant and let the others feed the children while I went back to sleep for an hour. It was actually two, they woke me up at nine and my head felt like a bucket. Julie and Phoebe had gone to work, the three younger ones were messing about in the garden, Stella was watching her two and Cate, while Jacquie tended to Lizzie. Simon appeared to be doing bugger all–there’s a surprise.

I drank the tea Jacquie brought me–she asked if she could have the afternoon off. I could hardly refuse her, she’d not had any time for days. So I told her to go and get herself ready for whatever she was going to do and I’d get up and take over. She went off with a real spring in her step. Before she went, I gave her twenty pounds to use during her afternoon off.

By ten I was in the thick of it as usual, and Simon was dashing off to his rugby game. I wondered where Danny was but then found him with Tom, they were strimming in the orchard. I called to them to watch out for hedgehogs. Tom waved and cussed me. Actually, that is supposition, he waved and muttered something which I didn’t hear, but the smile I got afterwards was one of guilt.

It appears I’d given David the day off as well. I must be losing it, because I couldn’t remember doing so. But he’s not a liar, just a brilliant cook. The weather was forecast to be scorching and it was certainly warming up. It was such a joy to have a few dry and warms days.

The buzzing from the garden ceased and a few minutes later Danny, red faced and covered in grass cuttings appeared at the kitchen door asking for drinks. I made up a jug of cold fruit squash which he took up the garden with two glasses. The girls then wanted a drink–maybe I should open a teashop?

By eleven, Lizzie was in search of a feed, and guess whose boobs got sucked inside out? A clue, it wasn’t Stella, though it was her expressed milk Jacquie had used earlier. I changed her and put her down in the bouncy chair in the kitchen where she could watch me while I organised lunch. I assumed Simon would be back for lunch, though if the Lions won, he might partake of refreshment at the rugby club, so goodness knows what time he’d be back.

I had enough large potatoes to do jackets and quite a bag of grated cheese, which together with some salad would make a reasonable lunch for a warm day. I popped the spuds in the Aga and left them to cook while I washed and chopped various salad items and left them in big bowls in the fridge. Alan arrived as I was finishing this exercise–I’d forgotten all about him, but wondered who’d driven up in a transit van.

We chatted while he had a coffee and I helped him take the stuff from the van to the large greenhouse which had nothing much in it at all, Tom having agreed we could use it for filming. It took four of us to manhandle the tubs of wheat he had to film, and by the time we’d finished I was exhausted.

Essentially, while I finished making lunch, he and Danny erected a giant tank around the largest tub of wheat, which is how you stop your actors from escaping the stage. The filming would be close up stuff, so the tank wouldn’t show in the background as it was disguised with more stalks of corn. He had a pair of harvest mice and they were left in their cage inside the tank while we all ate. It was just as well, because he didn’t shut the door properly and when I went to see what they’d be up to, Bramble was sitting in the tank sniffing round the cage. We’d need to make some sort of cat proof door, like an insect door they have in hotter countries. Tom found him some timber and some wire netting and he knocked something up in about an hour with Danny’s help.

Danny seemed very interested in the filming process and I left them at it while I went off to shop for vegetables for the evening. I had a large chicken in the oven but we’d run out of greens and I wanted some more carrots as well. If David wasn’t back tomorrow, I’d do soup with the chicken carcase for which I needed a few things. The girls came with me, and apart from an ice cream each, I refused to buy them anything else.

We’d not long got back when the phone rang. It was Brenda Highsmith. Her mother had been taken ill and was rushed into hospital, could we have Cindy for a day or two? I told myself that I didn’t care if the whole bloody family was wiped out, she wasn’t staying for more than a couple of days. I know, famous last words. It was just as well I’d bought a precooked chicken as well, it could possibly all be eaten that night.

Brenda had an old Renault Clio and she delivered Cindy plus bag of clothes mid afternoon. Trish and Livvie were delighted, Meems not so much, as she’d been left out last time. Alan had my guest room, so Cindy would have to use an inflatable mattress in the girl’s room. Trish thought that was brilliant.

Of course just after Cindy arrived, a taxi brought Simon, who was as drunk as a lord. Tom, Stella and I managed to get him into my study and dumped him on the sofa with a bucket. It appeared the Lions had won in some style, a word which we couldn’t currently apply to Simon, who was zonked, snoring away like the strimmer had been earlier.

At six, Julie and Phoebe came home with Sammi who’d shot off to town to meet a friend and then arranged to meet the other two at the salon. Julie was buzzing. Her boss was looking to retire and asked Julie if she was interested in taking it over. Julie was, but our financial adviser was still ‘strimming’ when she went down my study to check on him. She came back with a face like thunder.

It was then that I told everyone, except Simon, that at seven for an hour, I was going to watch the Tour de France and I didn’t care if the house burned down as long as I wasn’t disturbed. I therefore decamped to the lounge got myself comfy–and fell asleep, so I missed Froome taking the yellow jersey. Poo!.