The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2099 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I opened the back door and Simon stood under the porch he was dripping from head to foot and all I could do was laugh–well he looked so funny. His face contorted in anger and then he started to laugh as well. He tried to grab me to wet my clothes but I stepped back and waved a finger at him, he shrugged.

Trish arrived with an armload of towels and Simon stripped off his top clothes and shoes and I draped a towel round him. I told him to place his clothes in the washing machine and reminded him to remove his wallet or any valuables first. Just as well I did, he left a pile of soggy money in his trouser pocket.

British paper money isn’t what it appears to be. It isn’t paper it’s cloth. So if dried carefully, it can be separated and used as normal, though it might be more wrinkly than usual.

While Simon was busy disrobing and wrapping himself in towels I got the baby out of the dripping pram. She was dry as a bone, though the hood and top covers of the pram had minor puddles in them they’d done a good job in keeping her warm and dry.

I took her sleeping form up to her carrycot and left her to sleep, asking the kids to let me know if she woke. Then it was back down to the kitchen to make up a pan of soup to go with the fresh bread I’d asked Jacquie to make. I knew Simon wouldn’t object.

The chicken and vegetable soup went down well and very quickly along with two loaves of bread–I did mention that Simon was here and he put away half a loaf on his own–no wonder he doesn’t lose any weight. Danny also ate his share and the girls weren’t far behind. All I had to do was think of what we’d have for dinner. I decided to ask them what they’d like. Simon offered to buy in a take away but I stopped him saying that I hadn’t cooked for them for a while, so I’d make something but not pizza or fish and chips. I happened to mention that we could have had a cooked breakfast had I thought earlier and they all decided they’d like bacon and eggs for their tea.

That meant a trip to the supermarket, where I bought a load of bacon, a couple of dozen eggs, tomatoes, baked beans, mushrooms, sausages and some of the store baked bread. All I had to do then was get it all home and cook it. I started at six and it was seven by the time I’d cooked it all, including some fried mashed potato which I think the Yanks call hash browns.

We had toast and fried bread to fill them up the tomatoes and mushrooms plus beans for the healthier part of the meal and the bacon, sausage and eggs to make it all more interesting. It certainly wasn’t a cheap option as I used best ingredients, free range eggs and bacon, and the sausages were best pork.

What took an hour to cook took about quarter of an hour to demolish–they all ate like they’d not had food for weeks and I had to guard my plate or things would have disappeared. The bacon was all grilled, so only the potatoes were fried and that was in olive oil. I did think about doing some small chops and liver, turning the meal into a mixed grill, but decided I’d spent enough as it was.

I did get some help with clearing up and because Trish was so helpful, I gave her her phone back. She was really pleased. If she’s as good tomorrow, I might give her back her laptop.

The dresses had been ordered in a size fourteen, in the UK sizing system, I needed it to get it over my boobs, mind you, my bum was hardly small these days–so would fit reasonably well in the average sized dress. Stella had found her plaid, so at least I wouldn’t need to buy one of those.

I had shoes, though Stella told me they used shoes more like ballet ones. It began to feel like this could end up with River Dance before the ball was over. I asked Tom and he suggested a small heel would be fine and not to listen too much to Stella who was playing games again. I talked to him about the dresses but he agreed they would be suitable. I decided I’d wear the dress with a two inch heel, after all I wouldn’t be dancing on claymores as in the traditional sword dance.

Simon agreed and told me never to try it with American claymores. Of course, I had to ask him why and he smirked before telling me they were anti-personnel mines. I thought such things had been abolished but he assured me they hadn’t in many countries, such as the US, Russia and China.

“So it’s mainly Europe and the Commonwealth?”

“As far as I know, that’s about it.”

“Princess Di was big on campaigning against mines, wasn’t she?”

“So I believe–aren’t her two boys also involved with it, clearing them and so on?”

I wasn’t sure.

“I really enjoyed my dinner,” said Si as we settled down for a cuppa before the competition to get the kids to bed began. Perhaps contest would be a better descriptor, we, the adults, try to get them, the children, to bed at a reasonable time. It rarely works unless they have some treat the following day which can be threatened unless they comply. Even then, Trish argues against cooperation much of the time.

Sometimes I forget she’s only eight going on nine, because she’s quite a powerful arguer. If she could remain detached, she’d be even more forceful.

“What are you doing with them tomorrow?”

“Going to check some dormouse boxes, to see if it’s as bad as they suggest.”

“Sounds better than the meetings I have to attend.”

“It probably is, but then we have that board meeting soon, don’t we?”

“Wednesday, don’t forget.”

“It’s in my diary.”

“Good, I expect nothing less.”

I rolled my eyes then told him I was going to start getting the girls ready for bed. I was away for an hour before they were all in bed. He made me a fresh cuppa and it went down a treat.

“What did you read them?”

“A story set in Dorset by some woman with an unpronounceable name. It’s a Gaby story, but by a different author.”

“They enjoy it?”

“Si, you or I could write a crap story, but as long as Gaby or Drew are characters, they’ll love it.”

“I could do worse things, I suppose,” he sighed.

“Yeah, me too.”

“So what’s it about?” he asked finishing his drink.

“Bike racing, visiting tourist things, catching criminals, having a boyfriend–usual stuff.”

“Is it? I don’t recall Gaby having a boyfriend.”

“Well she does in this one.”

“And what do the girls think about that?”

“They haven’t said and I’ve never thought to ask them.”