The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2456 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

By the time we returned to the university the conversation had turned to more general things than, ‘my boss owns a bank,’ which was of some relief to me. I don’t do materialism, I’m a dormouse counter who’s probably promoted to the level of her incompetence. I was seated in my office, or I should say, Tom’s office, wondering how on earth I’d got there. It certainly wasn’t by ambition, though I’m sure both my parents would have approved, just as I would if any of my children achieved such a promotion. Having said that, it’s hardly Oxford or Cambridge, or even London, it’s a second rate establishment which until a few years ago used to be a polytec. Somehow, despite bigger and higher ranked universities, such as Southampton, which is just down the road, we got the mammal survey lead. I wrote the protocol for that so perhaps I’m not as stupid as I thought.

A fax arrived while I was in my act of self-denigration, something in which I really excel, and Delia popped it into me with a cuppa. It was about the continuing badger cull in Gloucestershire and Somerset. The general consensus was that it was both ineffective and expensive was shared by the scientific community and the world at large with the exception of the Conservative government and the Agribusiness lobby. I drafted a letter of complaint to the Environment Secretary copied to the Guardian and the Badger Trust. It appears since the cull started the increased illegal persecution of badgers has doubled according to the Trust.

According to the NFU, the farmer’s union, they condemned the death or cruelty to any animal or destruction of its habitat. Given that their members are every day removing hedgerows, clearing trees and spraying pesticides that kill bees and other useful creatures, they seem unable to see the irony of their statement.

I’m not trying to diminish the problem of bovine TB, it’s awful, and I do sympathise with dairy farmers who’ve built up herds only to have them decimated by the disease; at the same time the problem was caused by farmers through moving sick animals around and spread by them before badgers were involved. It’s also been demonstrated that vaccinating badgers is more cost effective than culling.

I went back to my staff meeting and interviews. These items either sent my heart rate soaring or sent me to sleep, however I did manage to organise a system for the interviews regarding questions and job descriptions. It was going to be strange interviewing for my own job.

At three, I went off to collect a car load of schoolgirls, who were like bottles of pop when I got there, freshly shaken bottles. Getting into the car they squabbled and pecked each other like angry starlings.

“Right,” I said loudly, “just what is going on?” in response all I got were silly giggles. I was now fast approaching blast off which of course made them giggle even more. I felt like murdering one of them as a warning to the others, but then couldn’t decide which one to kill first.

“Aren’t we going home?” asked Livvie noticing in between fits of giggles that the car was motionless.

“When someone explains what is going on,” I replied firmly which brought forth groans and more giggles. I never learn. Naturally, nothing was going on, it never is, thereby suggesting my children are sent into fits of hysterical laughter by nothing. No wonder women had had such a long way to travel to find equality with men. Men think we’re daft or immature. I think I might be beginning to understand why.

Eventually we got to the bottom of the hysteria. Some girl in the year above Trish and Livvie’s wet herself in class. The explanation sent them off again. I tried to suggest she might have a physical or emotional problem which caused it. They couldn’t seem to accept that. In their opinion she was either dirty or retarded.

“She might have had a urinary infection,” I suggested. They pooh-poohed that immediately. “Some other bladder problem,” was rejected equally quickly as was “being on her period.”

“Perhaps she’s stressed about something, that can make you wet yourself,” as I knew only too well. They refused to accept it as feasible even though each one had experienced such a problem. Once again I got angry at their intolerance of someone who is different, especially Trish, who should have known better.

In the end I did get them to think of reasons why someone might wet themselves but I wasn’t convinced they’d believe any of those things could happen to them but at least some sort of sanity had been achieved and I took them home before it disappeared again.

I asked Stella to explain why women got urinary infections then realised why I should have got the cat to do it instead. I was bored after five minutes, the girls lasted a bit longer and Stella longer still. Half an hour later and Stella was in full flow, a bit like a distended bladder—like mine felt at that moment and I had to rush off to the loo. The girls thought it hilarious. Somehow I didn’t seem to share their joke.

The next day I was tempted to go in jeans and a sweatshirt to show that I wasn’t impressed by beautiful people or expensive threads but Daddy’s scowl meant I had to go and change into something smarter. I had one suit less now due to it being soaked in blood when Sammi and I were shot and it just so happened it was that suit, the one Spike had peed on and I’d been wearing when the posters had been photographed. I had plenty of others so wore one with a blouse. The suit was grey with a very thin red pinstripe and I wore a red blouse with red shoes and bag.

The girls were effusive with their compliments and I had to point out I did dress up sometimes. When challenged to say when, I couldn’t remember. Sammi could and told me it was going to a director’s meeting at the bank. It sounded about right. Then Trish asked about the suit and it was obvious that everyone overlooked that occasion as being the time I’d last worn a suit. I suppose we can’t always see the most obvious things at times. It was certainly true for me.

Somehow, I got the four gigglers to school, assisted by Jacquie who is invaluable. I must up her allowance, she deserves it. Without her support I’d either have to employ someone or give up work. Neither seemed as such a good idea as the system we had now, although if her course demanded it, I’d have to give up work or go part time, which was what I thought I’d agreed to do before I found myself playing at nutty professors.