The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2365 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I love this time of year, late spring, when the sound of invigilators fills the air and the sweat of students trying to answer questions about things they neglected to revise fills the nasal cavities. Just think, all those of you who won’t spend a month marking papers or taking oral exams, you don’t know what you’re missing. The opportunity to see them really sweat or fail because of the power you have to destroy them—I stood up and stretched, glancing out of the tiny window in my bijou office I could see the dark clouds and rain. I’d need to go for lunch soon but had to rest my brain for a few minutes. Marking exam scripts is one of the lesser known forms of masochism practised by aesthetic academics in their hermetically sealed ivory towers.

I locked my office door and ran down to the lab with my mug and tea bag. I made my tea and quickly checked the dormice, they seemed okay, I added to the fruit and nuts in the centre of their run and turned back to my office. I still had about twenty papers to mark, so far the biology students were heading for lower grades than the ecology ones. I’m not supposed to be teaching first years these days, being a reader, I’m supposed to supervise post grad students or direct research—so much for theory.

I marked another two papers and after locking the papers in my filing cabinet, went off to lunch. Pippa had already gone and I was just about to follow when Tom came out of his office and nearly bowled me over.

He seemed preoccupied and almost didn’t recognise me. I was in very casual dress—jeans and a sweat shirt with the motif of Sussex Student’s Union. “Och, I thocht it wis a student, whit are ye doin’ dressed like one?”

“Marking exam papers.”

“Aye, well go an’ get yer coat an’ bag and ye can tak me tae lunch.”

“I don’t really have time to spend...”

“It wis an instruction no a request.”

I arrived back at his office two minutes later. Then, I drove us to his favourite restaurant and was instructed to come and have lunch. Jeans and trainers are hardly an approved outfit for eating out, even DK ones with Reebocks, however, Daddy insisted I accompany him and the waiter recognised me even in mufti. As we came to the end of the meal, Daddy sipped his Guinness and I drank my tea, he suddenly asked, “Whit are ye daein’ t’morrow?”

“Marking the exam papers I didn’t finish today, why?”

“I want ye tae help Pippa choose which of thae applicants we invite f’ interview.”

“Daddy, I haven’t time.”

“Sure ye dae, oh, an’ wear somethin’ mair suitable to speak wi’ thae fifty visitors we’ve comin’ tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Are ye lugs blocked?”

“No, I just thought I heard you say I had to dress tidily tomorrow because I had to do a talk to fifty prospective students and also select fifty applicants to list for interview—did I forget anything, apart from marking?”

“Aye, comin’ tae lunch wi’ me.”

“What about my papers?”

“Whit aboot them?”

“I still have twenty to mark.”

“Weel stay an’ mark them then, I’ll collect yer girls fa ye.”

“What are you proposing I say to these girls tomorrow?”

“I didnae say they were lassies.”

“Oh—well these applicants, then.”

“Most o’ them are lassies, they want to bath hedgehogs and count dormice fa some reason, dinna ken why—as that’s yer territory, ye can speak tae them.”

Just what I needed, “Okay, I’ll throw something together, though why, I don’t know.”

“Sure ye dae, yer a superstar teacher.”

I got finished at six, if I saw an exam paper in ten years time, it would be far too soon. Tom hadn’t come back to his office since collecting the girls and I assumed he’d gone home with them. He had and he played with them before and after dinner while I slogged to put together a programme of clips and quotes I could use to entertain the would be students. My study is about five times bigger than my office and far nicer to work in. I managed to sort out roughly what I wanted to say and after checking that things would be cooler tomorrow, I opted to wear a suit with court shoes and a cap sleeved blouse. The suit is denim and the blouse is red to match my shoes.

It had only taken me an hour to sort everything out so I was either getting better at this sort of event or not caring. I hoped it was the former.

On the day, I dressed did my hair and makeup dropped the girls off to school and went over to the university. “Nice threads,” offered Pippa. I smiled and asked her to photo copy fifty sets of a quiz entitled, ‘So you wanna count dormice, eh?’ I included a few photos and hoped they were good enough.

To my astonishment Tom was actually hosting the event with the youngsters, as I arrived. He talked to them about the course and the sort of exam results we wanted to see and asked them who they’d like to speak to or listen to at the university.

The general cry went up for dormouse woman. They were oblivious to the fact that I was sitting at the back of the lecture theatre with a disc of slides and clips and a small cage with a dormouse in it. It wasn’t Spike, she’s got her paws full with more babies.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” started Tom reminding me he could speak perfectly good English when he so desired, “may I introduce the award winning film maker, survey organiser and teacher, here at Portsmouth University, Dr Cathy Watts.”

I descended the steps from the rear of the room to a huge roar of applause and I hadn’t done anything yet. I acknowledged it and Tom’s introduction. I gave the disc to Tom who loaded the laptop attached to the projector while I picked on a young woman seated in the middle of the front row.

“Why do you want to come to Portsmouth University?”

“I want to study dormice.”

“Why?”

“I think they’re so cute and I’d like to know more about them.”

“You could buy a book about them cheaper than doing a degree.”

“But I want to handle them and perhaps make films about wildlife.”

“Why?”

“Because I do.”

Fair enough except it’s been done. “You going to be able to make one better than mine—the film I mean?”

“I’d try.”

“Good for you, what’re you going to call it, Mission Impossible?”

“It might be for some, but I’ve made short films as part of my A-level course.”

“Okay folks, it looks like we could have a serious rival to my role as a film maker—why are you here?” I asked a boy two seats behind her.

I teased and tormented them for quarter of an hour before showing some clips where things didn’t always go to plan, they all seemed to enjoy them especially of the owl chasing Alan’s helper before he fell in the stream. When asked if they were sure that was what they wanted to do, they all affirmed it was.

I later spoke to Daddy and he agreed they were applying to the wrong place, they needed a film school.