The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2361 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

With the kids on half term it was a busy time given that I was trying to mark exam papers as well as keep the household together. Hannah came ad gave her mother a hand with house work, so I gave her a few pounds. My bundles of joy then complained that they didn’t get paid when they did chores for me. I pointed out quite firmly that: they lived here and therefore had to help with chores—they did get pocket money, for which they didn’t do anything specific; I lived there too and didn’t get paid either and I did a lot more of the chores than they did. I didn’t even get to point number three, they fled the field probably to regroup and hit me later with some other outrage I’d perpetrated upon them.

Danni must have mentioned the photo because they all wanted to see it. I was tempted to tell them to go and find it like I’d had to, but then who knows what else they’d find, so with some reluctance I let them see me as a sixteen year old school girl; after which, I hoped they’d leave me in peace.

They didn’t of course, they wanted to talk or engage me in some other form of attention seeking game. It was very difficult not getting drawn into their sport but I just about managed to stay aloof.

“See, Mummy was never a boy,” declared Trish as if by belief alone she could magically change the past.

The other two agreed and I hoped they’d leave me to my exam scripts—not that I really wanted to mark them, but so far no one has invented an electronic form of marking more than tick box answers or multi choice. That doesn’t mean we don’t use them but not for an end of year or degree exam. Speaking of which, the wind of change doesn’t give a monkey’s.

They finally left me to my task and within minutes I was in the slough of despond as opposed to dat pond. I’m sure that the average pond snail could give a more appropriate answer than the paper I’d recently marked. Those who are too thick to recognise that I’d given them homework for the past few nights which were almost identical with the exam questions they were facing. So anyone who was too stupid to see that should face the consequences. I don’t mind students being a bit dim but completely stupid is a step too far—it is a university not a social club for spotty Herberts.

The next day was similar, Tom taking my marked scripts in for someone else to check my marking scheme. If I saw one more suggesting that otters live in a hole, I should go mad, it’s a holt, a frigging holt. The problem was when Tom returned at lunchtime, I received more scripts to mark or check someone else’s scheme. Either way I spent too long ignoring my children or getting cross with the stupidity of other people’s offspring.

Finally, I seemed to have finished them—until the degree exams happen and in those the marking is crucial, so I consider the time I take over those to be almost sacrosanct and they’ll all be done in my office so fewer distractions should occur.

We got to the Friday night and Carly and Cindy arrived with sleeping bags. I helped Danni inflate two mattresses so theoretically, there’d be enough room in her bedroom to enable them all to sleep there. They could use the bedroom to play with their makeup or hairstyling or whatever else they wanted to do. There was a bathroom opposite and Sammi fixed up one of the smaller televisions to operate from Danni’s laptop, so they could watch a film if they wanted, using the laptop as a DVD player.

“S’not fair,” complained Trish, Liv an’ me can’t have a sleepover and we been girls longer than Danni.”

“Sorry but sleepovers in this house are for teenagers only, which means that when you’re a teenager and ask me nicely, I may let you have one. If however you continue to carp and whine then I might add a hundred years to the time you’ll have to wait.”

“But it isn’t fair, Mummy,” Livvie tried to reason.

“Life isn’t fair, Julie, Sammi nor I were allowed to have sleepovers and I wouldn’t be surprised if Auntie Stella missed out as well.”

Stella looked at me and blushed. “I went to one and got so drunk Dad wouldn’t let me have one of my own.”

“So if Danni gets drunk will you stop her having any more?”

“Danni won’t be getting drunk, neither will the others,” I asserted.

“But if they did,” continued Trish.

“Then I’d suspect you were involved and stop you ever having one of your own.”

“Oh poo,” she went off followed by her other brainiac sister. I thought I was going to have to watch Danni and her two friends but the danger duo might have changed my area of alertness. I couldn’t believe that either was stupid enough to try and slip the older trio some doctored drinks after I’d told her I’d know she was responsible but that was pretty well what I interrupted a short while later emptying a bottle of apple juice and refilling it with strong cider.

“Just what are you doing?” I asked in a loud voice. They were in one of the sheds and Trish who was doing most of the decanting dropped the bottle of cider which fell to the ground spraying cider everywhere. They looked at each other for a few moments then decided to leg it by which time I was inches away and able to intercept. I grabbed Trish by the hood of her jacket she still had the bottle of cider in her hands and Livvie got away with the bottle of apple juice, which was now apple juice with a kick.

“I won’t talk,” offered the condemned.

“Talk? Who said anything about talking?”

“That’s what they say in the films.”

It appeared she saw different films than the ones I was used to. “You don’t need to, I saw you with my own eyes.”

“But you won’t give us a fair trial.”

“Fair trial?” I tried to clarify.

“Yeah.” Was her reply.