The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2395 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Walking back to the minibus, we only just made it before the heavens opened and precipitated all around us, people were rushing about like lunatics trying to get back to their cars and campervans—there were loads of those—before they were soaked. “Might as well get back to the B&B,” suggested Si.

“We can’t.”

“Why not, Mummy?”

“The road’s closed until at least six o’clock.”

“Why, the race went through half an hour ago.”

“That’s the way these things are organised—for all we know they might have a road-sweeper van that cleans up the dead riders or spectators.”

“They don’t, do they, Mummy?” asked a concerned Mima.

“Well they can’t leave then on the roadside like dead foxes or badgers.”

“Eeeww,” added Trish.

“Haven’t seen as many up here as down home,” was Danni’s observation.

“Many what?” asked Simon.

“Dead things.”

“Do they leave dead people on the roads?” interjected Livvie.

“Only in Portsmouth,” suggested Si.

“Unless they’re on a cycle path and then we’re allowed to drag them to the gutter,” someone must have pushed my silly button.

“Why do you drag them to the gutter?” asked a horrified Livvie.

“You can’t leave ’em on cycle paths, it could cause an accident, so you dump ’em on the road and big lorries can squish ’em.”

“That is horrible, Daddy,” complained Livvie.

“Saves burning or burying them.”

“That’s true,” agreed Livvie realising he was joking.

“Burnin’ oh bewwyin’ them?”

“Yeah, it’s what we do with dead bodies,” smirked Simon. I felt astonished that given the death of Billie, Mima would know about funereal practices in this country. It appeared she didn’t. I had to stop this now or we’d have more bad dreams tonight.

“It’s stopped raining, how about a sandwich or a biscuit?”

“The worms crawl in and worms crawl out, they go in thin and they come out stout,” gloated Danni. “That’s what happens when they bury ya.”

“Danielle, that’s enough,” I said firmly.

“But it’s true unlike your leaving bodies in the gutter.”

“So does anyone want a sandwich?” None of them did except Danni and Simon of course. I sat and ate an apple, it was all I fancied.

“Mummy, what’s worse than finding a worm in your apple?” asked Livvie suddenly remembering a joke.

“They’re not worms they’re caterpillars of sorts, or the larvae of the coddling moth.” Oops, I was killing her joke, typical teacher. “Um—finding two worms?”

“No,” she shrieked, “Finding half of one.”

“How is that worse?” asked the brain.

“’Cos it means you ate the other half—duh.”

“Ugh, I was gonna have an apple, don’t think I will now,” Trish complained and I admit I did glance at my own apple which made Simon snort, so I didn’t tell him about the fly which landed on his sandwich as he put it in his mouth—too much information.

We ended up sitting in the back of the minibus watching the film of The Princess Bride. I’ve seen it so often I can almost recite the dialogue. Simon fell asleep in the front of the bus while the girls and I cwtched, Cate napping in my arms, the younger girls seated either side of me and Danni sat almost on her own, occasionally muttering about the comics she could have been reading. Such are the joys of family life.

Once we were allowed to leave the campsite where we’d parked, Simon took us back to the guest house. “Mummy?”

“Yes, Danielle.”

“Can Cindy an’ Carly come to stay again?”

“Not for a few weeks,” I felt I needed a bit of a break after this weekend.

She muttered under her breath, “But I can go and see them?”

“I suppose so, I don’t usually stop you. You’ll be on holiday soon, so I want all of you to do any homework you have to do when you finish school not the night before you start back.” I received assorted mutterings to that.

The drive home on the Monday morning was complicated by the fact that we stopped at Southwell, which is the minster or cathedral for Nottingham. I’d been told it was an interesting place and to be sure to visit the minster. Which we did. It’s a big church, not quite on the scale of York or Lincoln, but then it didn’t feel quite as dead as those places did when I visited them, however, the flying Jesus above the high altar didn’t do much for me either. I suspect it’s supposed to be Christ in Majesty but it looked more like he was skydiving sans parachute while wearing a gold lamé dress. Majestic? In a crass sort of way.

However, all that was forgiven when we found the cathedral tea room in the church grounds and Simon treated us to a drink and a snack—the rest of them opted for cheesy jacket spuds but Simon and I had the special, scrambled egg and smoked salmon on a toasted muffin—an English muffin, not yer foreign stuff. It was exactly the sort of thing I fancied eating, light but filling. Simon agreed it was delicious but I wouldn’t let him eat another one—I think—at least I hope, he was joking.

It’s a very small place with a handful of shops and I suspect the last event that happened there was the Battle of nearby Newark (on Trent) in 1644 which was won by the Royalists under Prince Rupert. It felt like the sort of place you went to retire to though there were some very nice houses there and property prices were quite high for a little place in Nottinghamshire.

From there we went back to the M1 via Nottingham, driving past County Hall then through the road works near Nottingham Trent University which all added to slow us down. The M1 was busy and various repairs or extensions to carriageways or barriers added to the ordeal of driving with children. We eventually arrived home about tea time and I’d texted David who laid on a roast chicken dinner for us—it was delicious and I admit I was ready for it.

Getting the kids to bed was another pain—they were all tired—so was I but did eventually win the battle of wills, and they capitulated after I read them a Gaby story—it was either that or the riot act.

Talking of Gaby, I did see a young lad who could quite easily have passed as a girl, blond and about twelve or thirteen, who rode off on a road bike with his dad.

Finally, at ten o’clock I gave in to my fatigue and went to bed, I looked at the Guardian crossword for two minutes before I zonked and stayed comatose until about six the next morning, when I woke remembering I had to get them ready for school and the schools’ quiz. The fun never ends...