The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2690 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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“Hee hee,” smirked Simon.

“What’s so funny?” I enquired.

“Australians and their money are soon parted.”

“You bet on the test match again?”

“Yeah, only a little one.” That usually means a thousand pounds or less.

“And I take it you won?”

“Yep.”

“You promised me you weren’t going to do that any more.”

“I didn’t did I?”

“You did actually.”

He blushed, “Sorry, I forgot and we did it ages ago.”

“Not the same bloke as last time?”

“Yep.”

“You’d think he’d learn.”

“Nah, he’s got more money than brain cells.” I assumed he wasn’t stating it literally, as we have several billion brain cells. “Danni still miffed with the FA?”

“I think she accepted the argument that she was too young to risk at such a contest and judging by how physical some of it got, she could have been hurt.”

“I think they might have scored more goals if they’d played her.”

I shrugged, I would probably have agreed if I knew more about soccer, but I don’t. If they want to discuss tactics for the team time trial in the TdF, I’ll talk for a lot longer. Team Sky only a second behind BMC, the boys done good, as they say; so Froome keeps the yellow jersey. I’m sure he deserves it and he seems to be looking quite strong this year, but then so was Tony Martin until he fell off. Dangerous sport, cycling.

Is Greece in or out of the Eurozone? Simon looks a little worried but has bought quite a few euros in case we want to go abroad. The girls are officially on holiday—oh boy, now the fun begins.

Hannah seemed to be settling in at the school quite well thanks to Trish and Livvie sorting things out for her and coaching her through the exams—she did quite well given the time factor involved. That could mean she’s quite bright or that Trish is a good teacher.

I told Simon about Hannah’s results and he smiled. When I said how little time she’d had to prepare and Trish had coached her he smiled even more widely. “You’re a teacher par excellence—so where’s the surprise. Like mother like daughter.”

“But I’m only her adopted mother,” I sighed.

“Yeah, but she’s forgotten that and thinks she inherited my brain and good looks and your sense of humour seeing as you don’t think I’ve got one.”

“You have a sense of humour, Simon,” but it’s more juvenile than a prem baby.

“Might I have that in writing?”

“Ha ha.”

“Once more with feeling?” he urged.

“I have to do some more work on the survey.”

“Haven’t come across any jungle cats lately, then?”

“Jungle cats? What’re you on about?”

“We had one killed in a RTA in 1988 or 9.”

“You’re joking?”

“Take a look on the internet, there should be a record of it and who was driving.”

As soon as he left my room I googled it and then read it, two of the unfortunate creatures were hit by cars in 1988/9 and killed. Apparently, these animals were living free in the UK, presumably from escapes from collections and survived for at least a couple of years. When the dangerous animals act came in in the 1970s quite a few keepers of potentially dangerous animals released them in the wild. Some of them have gone on to adapt to their environment and prospered, some haven’t. I shouldn’t approve really because they are alien species which have been released without any form of control which is illegal and downright stupid. No one knows what the outcome will be, they might all perish or prosper and become a pest. We don’t have any natural predators to control them having killed off all the lynx and bears in seventeen something or other and as these aren’t really big enough to kill sheep, the farmers aren’t really aware of them eating bunnies and hares.

On a different matter, the government are going to resurrect the fox hunting act—the one that banned it. I’m horrified, there can be no justification for it, it’s just sadist’s on horseback enjoying chasing a small animal almost to death before allowing a pack of huge dogs to tear it apart. How can that be enjoyable?

I recalled the day we had the hunt arrive in the garden and Simon and the master of foxhounds nearly set to over things. We pretty well all got involved in the argument and I think I might have hit someone too. I can’t quite remember, but I do recall Daddy sitting in some fresh horse poo. I chuckled, then remembered it wasn’t approved of by more than half the population. Surely, they can’t win it can they? I thought about the budget which he’d published earlier this week, which showed the tories were up to their own tricks of robbing the poor to fund tax cuts to the rich.

The sad thing is we’re some of the rich, or I am now. I guess Simon has always been one of them—rich that is, being born into the Cameron family. Yet he’s an anti-tory, me—I’m an old fashioned liberal, though I’m aware that has a different meaning in the US and Australia. In the US I believe it means left-winger, in Australia it means conservative and in the UK, it means centre-left. No wonder we have confusion these days, the same words mean different things in different places.

I watched Danni threading a needle as she sewed a small split in a seam of her skirt. A few months ago she couldn’t or wouldn’t have done that. I recalled that awful day when Pia did her amateur surgeon job on her and we were unaware she was fighting for her life in A&E. I still don’t know what she was doing at Pia’s house that morning and I’m not sure I ever will. We were all lucky she didn’t bleed to death or die from the inhalation of chloroform—a nasty drug. We used to use it for killing cockroaches in the laboratory prior to dissection—poor periplaneta.

Who’d have believed a few months later she’d be sporting a schoolgirl and Senior England cap and although she didn’t get to go to the world cup, she might get their next time and if she does, the opposition had better watch out as she’s a very talented player, she’s also becoming a very attractive young woman, albeit a bit boyish looking—can’t think why.