The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2467 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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On the Wednesday before Phoebe’s award, I took Danni to football training. The coach read her the riot act about fighting, then told her they’d missed her. She’d done some running two or three times a week to keep some sort of fitness, in fact I’d thought of going with her except I never have time to do much anything except work or chores. Even doing Phoebe’s dress hadn’t reduced my load very much, despite her eventually helping out by emptying the dishwasher. She’s not been very domesticated, which is partly my fault and I wondered if I should start to remedy that by a few basics in sewing.

Danni and I returned from her footie practice, cut short by the heavy shower which alternately soaked then froze them in the stiff breeze. The coach, who was wearing a waterproof decided that he didn’t want them all sick with chills or colds he’d call it a night half an hour early. They went off to the showers whilst I sent some emails from my iPad, all to do with the mammal survey. I also phoned home to advise them we’d be on our way anytime. Simon, who’d just got home, decided they’d all wait for us.

The meal was delicious, liver and bacon with new potatoes, broad beans and carrots. David had wrapped the liver in rashers of bacon before frying it with onions in the oven, after which he added water, well stock, then covered it and we had a casserole. I know, the second in a week—I could eat his casseroles every night, they are so lovely, this one was just wonderful. Simon was looking for seconds, but there wasn’t any left over, we all ate our share. After clearing up, with Trish’s help, she does do her share most of the time, I chatted with Tom about the mammal survey. I needed to make time to do it or get someone in to do it under my supervision. He suggested the latter would be better and to think about employing a post grad student who’d helped me before.

I spoke to personnel and they seemed to think I had to advertise it. I drafted all the necessary paperwork and passed it on to Delia to type up before dashing off to lunch with Tom. The meal was quite enlightening as he considered a way round the personnel thing would be to invite the person I had in mind to study for a masters and the university would give him a grant of ten thousand including his fees for a two year period if he did his degree taking the survey analysis beyond the work I’d done and checking out some of the ideas I’d explored in my doctoral thesis.

I spoke to personnel who were not very happy but agreed I wasn’t breaking any rules or laws to offer a degree rather than money for work carried out, which after all was a research project.

The person I had in mind was Graham Watson who’d come to biology a bit later in life than most of our undergrads. He was twenty five and a graduate in physics, but one who tired of the abstract world of calculations and who wanted to link with the living world, and who by chance was very interested in mammals, apparently having been entranced by some woman who made a film about dormice. Perhaps, I got that the wrong way around; he was actually entranced by my cute furry subjects not the gobby presenter of the film—he was happily married and working in insurance, when he contacted me about the possibility of doing a master’s degree in mammalian ecology.

Tom and I interviewed him and agreed he had qualities which could be useful in mentoring students who were stuck on the mathematical aspect of biology. I mean to analyse things you need to show method and one of those might be by mathematical means, such as two polecats over an otter to the square of a badger equals a pine marten to the power of stoat – a quadmustelid equation and of course total nonsense, well a quad-rat-ic equation would have been about rodents.

In the biochemical processes there are maths, in population studies there are maths, in budgeting for departments there are maths as well, it seems the one thing you can always count on, apart from your fingers, is that somewhere in the mix of everything there will be some form of mathematics.

I got Delia to write to Graham saying that I’d like him to come and see me regarding a possible place for a master’s student. He’d continue working at his insurance job a couple or so days a week and give us two or so days, which should keep the data input and analysis under control and feeding back to me, so I’m still leading the project but no longer doing so much of the basic work.

I felt quite pleased that I was able to consider giving up some responsibility for my baby—my survey—quite painlessly. My priorities had changed as I ended up managing things and moving on from the day to day activity. I considered that finding someone to look after the domestic scene would also be useful but after so many false starts over that, it was something I felt extremely wary about.

Jacquie had been the last one I’d recruited and while I don’t regret one bit of how things have turned out, I must stop taking people in who have problems. She does quite a bit about the house for her allowance, but she is a member of the family not a hired hand. In future I’ll try not to let that happen, so if we employ someone, it’ll be more like David, although he’s as much a friend as an employee, and Ingrid, who still lives with him does very little here now—she’s working somewhere and doing training courses at the same time. Another lame duck I rescued who’s so overcome with gratitude I rarely see her.

It’s no wonder that Simon gets so cross with me. I’m not the good Samaritan, except that as he was a supposed outcast in the parable due to the religious snobbery of the period, I too am a bit of an outsider in many ways, not least my history. But like the character in the parable, I can’t walk by on the other side of the road and hope that I never will. I also hope my children follow my example, but that’s for them to decide. We can only lead them, they will follow their own ideas and standards as they mature.

I collected the girls and we got home to be assailed by smells of baking—David had made a pie for dinner. Phoebe greeted me with a sparkle in her eyes. “Mummy, you know you’re coming to my prize giving...you wouldn’t like to present the prizes, would you?”

“No I jolly well wouldn’t, why?”

“Apparently the principal has gone down with...”

“Alice?” I offered.

“They’re changing guards at Buckingham Palace, Christopher Robin went down with Alice...”

She looked blankly at me.

“A.A. Milne,” she still looked blank. “Winnie the Pooh.”

“Yeah, I saw the film years ago.”

“Oh god, another Disney calumny, like Mary Poppins.”

“I quite liked her.” She beamed at me.

Oh boy.