The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2493 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“So when I asked him to look in the boot, he ran a mile.” I was telling Delia of my encounter with a parking critic.

“You don’t really have a python, do you, Professor?”

“Oh yes, and he’s invisible to everyone but me.”

“So I wouldn’t be able to see him then?”

Was this for real? “He might let you see him.”

“Oh wow, that’d be great, I’ve never seen a python.”

I went into my office and switching on the computer had an email from Si with a link to a Micosoft site. According to the story, there was a young tiger loose in a town near Paris. Apparently the police were hoping to capture it alive. If it’s true then I hope they take it alive, too. Thankfully we don’t record exotics in our survey, except as an afterthought. I could understand some weird bird turning up after gales, they do. Including one that was so exhausted after being blown thousands of miles off course and later by twitchers chasing it round an industrial site, it didn’t see the sparrowhawk which took it quicker than someone could say, illegal immigrants.

Mammals would be hard pushed to get to an island unless they were bats or came through the tunnel which is supposed to be so difficult as to be impossible, according to the designers. So any exotics, except bats would have to be escapes or releases of captive animals. Obviously, the tunnel is guarded by all sorts of gadgets to prevent the spread of rabies apart from anything else, although the last person to catch the disease in this country got it from being bitten by a sick bat, or so the story goes.

I wasn’t aware bats could fly that far or did fly that far, but then I study dormice and I know they can’t fly that far. In fact, dormice can’t usually fly at all, unless they saved for years to buy the plane tickets. High St bank would allow them to save without incurring any charges. How do I know? It’s my photo on the advert, along with Spike—I’m the one in the suit.

Delia brought me in a cuppa. My desk seemed like the paperwork had bred since I was last in, yet I was determined to do some more on my distance learning course. It had to be approved by the university council, but if I mention bringing in money, it should get through. Money seems to be the only thing people want these days, from teenagers to stately homes. It sickens me, it always has, so it isn’t just a question of: now I have plenty, everyone else can go take a running jump, I’ve never been turned on by money. Incredibly, apart from four years at university, I’ve never been that short of the stuff. Being short was my choice. I’d quarrelled with my parents so didn’t ask them for any when I got short. I did jobs where I could. One of those was helping make up the orders and deliver them on a Sunday from a newsagents. I was up at half four and finished at about ten, for which I got the princely sum of fifteen quid. Three pounds an hour—slave wages. I suppose the two or three miles I cycled to and from the shop and the three I walked helped to keep me fit and it was also surprising the wildlife I used to see during those early mornings—once I’d got my eyes to stay open.

Eighteen or nineteen years old and doing a paper round—yeah, that was me, but it was either that or live off a very meagre diet. It was basic enough as it was. I’d buy a large loaf, some baked beans, a couple of tins of tuna, some tuna pate and some fruit or salad stuff. I had chocolate once a month. I was sharing a house with four girls but anything much left in the fridge disappeared. At one point I thought a chicken would feed me all week, so I roasted one, ate one cooked dinner and put the rest of the bird in the fridge. The next morning it was practically all gone. No one admitted to its theft, but I didn’t buy another one.

My dad did pay my rent, just as well because I’d spent my student loan on the Scott and the kit to ride it—or at least I did in my final year. Belting round the lanes of Sussex but still not being good enough for the cycling team. It still hurt that they’d rejected me because they saw me as some effeminate waste of time or as a girl. The latter was okay, the former offended me but I didn’t make an issue because it wasn’t worth it. I’d made enough enemies in school, something I thought would change in uni, but it didn’t. It wasn’t quite as obvious as it had been in school, but the prejudice was still there. They thought I was gay but because I didn’t hang out with the gays, the heteros kept well away from me, except one or two of the girls—but those relationships were quite superficial for the most part. My best friend had been Siân during my school years, she’d remained my friend while I was at Sussex because we used to write once or twice a term then she disappeared—when she went off to work through her sexuality issues. I was glad we’d got back together, I must see her again soon.

At lunch Tom invited me to accompany him to his usual watering hole for a bite. I had tuna salad for a change whilst he indulged in a beef curry—they’d run out of chicken. He was crabby all through the meal because he’d been unable to have his usual repast. I felt like telling him to grow up, but part of me understood that they’d known he was coming to lunch, so why hadn’t they bought enough chicken to cater for him. On the way back he told me he was going to boycott them for the rest of the week. I didn’t believe a word of it.

For the final hour before I left to get the girls, I did some planning for my distance learning courses. I had to put together a proposal stating the aims and objectives, the costings, staffing needs, other resources and finally income. At the rate I was going, it would take me until Christmas to find time to finish it. A bit like the two wheels I’d been building, I’d finish them when I had time—assuming this job didn’t finish me first.

Delia dumped a whole pile of new post on my desk and it was as much as I could do not to burst into tears. I was determined not to look at it until I came in tomorrow. I still had stuff for the survey to do, but I’d do that when the girls went to bed, hopefully they wouldn’t be too late. I picked up my laptop and closed my door locking it behind me then trudged off to my car. Seeing the cat symbol on the back of it lifted my spirits for a moment, then it was off to collect the girls and I said I enjoyed teaching, it was what I was here to do? Perhaps I needed to rethink that bit?