The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2715 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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He was gone by the time I woke, I’m sure he doesn’t get enough sleep. Sammi had gone with him, so the only ones I had to talk to about my talk were Daddy, Stella, Julie who dashed off to work with Phoebe, Jacquie and David. Danielle dashed off to see Cindy again and asked if they came back could she stay for dinner? I told her to make sure she told David if we had extras. They all thought it was a good idea if I had time and agreed with me that at short notice, I was likely to have a smaller audience.

I went to check my computer and waiting for me was a huge file from Alan which despite supposed superfast broadband, took quite a while to download. In fact I had time to make a quick cuppa while it did so. I then sat and watched the outtakes making myself cringe. I have decided that doing talks based upon my mistakes must either prove I’m some sort of masochist or comedian or perhaps a teacher—nah, I’ll never be one of those and turn into some crusty old professor—not my style, besides I’m too dumb.

Trish sat and watched them with me. She thought they were hilarious, especially when the mice escaped. The one of me grabbing Bramble as she snuck into the greenhouse also made her laugh out loud. “That cat is one determined critter,” I said.

“Huh, you usually call her worse than that, Mummy.”

We watched the one with the helicopter hovering overhead which it did for minutes and it disturbed the harvest mice quite a lot. I knew what it was and it disturbed me—bloody police. Mind you if they’re flying to help me or mine, that’s different, naturally. Don’t we all think that? My problems take priority over everyone else’s. Sadly, that seems to be the case today and I find many people much more selfish, ruder and aggressive than I remember them even ten years ago. Is it simply because there are so many more of us living in relatively confined spaces—certainly rats that are overcrowded become more aggressive and will even kill each other—not that we should attach too much credit to other species, even ones which are as prolific as we are, so are therefore equally successful.

I saw in the paper of some woman who branded her daughter’s face with a hot cigarette lighter. The child was sixteen months old, about Lizzie’s age. How could someone do that? But then how could anyone deliberately hurt a child—they do. There were reports of the young US aid worker who was taken as a hostage was regularly sexually abused by some of the Isil hierarchy, and that thousands of women and girls have been raped or abused by their fighters, which the leaders condone.

Even in the rampages by French or Allied soldiers during the Napoleonic wars, if the commanders found out about it, soldiers were flogged or hanged. Rape is never condoned by professional armies even though they know it happens as wars brutalise everyone. A young medical student in Japan watched with incredulity as captured American aircrews were used as guinea pigs in nonsense experiments. He made copious notes and after the war wrote a book about it. Very few of the doctors who deliberately maimed and killed these prisoners of war were taken to task about it. It wasn’t a priority unlike the Nazi perpetrators who are still being brought to trial seventy years later.

I copied the files to a DVD and checked it had recorded them, then put that safely into a cover having labelled both it and the case. I then put it into my laptop bag. That was ready and I’d use some of the outtakes of both films to entertain or bore the wildlife trust members—serve them right for inviting me.

“May I come with you when you do your talk, Mummy?”

I looked at her in what must have been close to astonishment. “But you’ve seen all the clips, won’t you find it boring?”

“No, I seen all the clips with your dormouse talk but still liked listening to you talk about them.”

“You saw not seen,” I corrected.

“I didn’t saw nothing.”

“You said you seen all the clips.”

“Yeah, I did see them all.”

“But you should have said, you had seen them or you saw them, not seen them.”

She looked perplexed. “But I seen them.”

“No, Trish, you saw them or had seen them.”

“Forget it, I’ll stay home,” she said and stormed out of the room muttering under her breath. Some teacher I am. I felt like cancelling the talk just in case I had the same effect on everyone, either that, or simply avoid correcting anyone’s grammar—or just correcting them. I could imagine a scenario where someone said they’d seen a dormouse in an impossible situation—such as walking into a teashop in Devon. I wouldn’t have believed it had there not been confirmation from several sources, including the zoo which fostered it. I believe it ended up in Chester, should have come to us, we’re closer—but there you are. If someone told me on Monday that had happened to them, I’d be convinced they were mistaken, but it has happened. I wonder if it was going there for a slice of fruit cake or a walnut one. For one crazy moment, I imagined a dormouse entering a teashop and asking for a slice of cherry cake or fruit flan. I was obviously losing the plot somewhat, I must be, as it would have asked for some bread and Nutella.

I thought I heard the doorbell go but continued with my musings, then when the urge to grab another cuppa arose I passed a ripped jiffy bag with my name on it. What was going on? I took into the kitchen where most of the children were and asked if anyone knew what it was about. They didn’t.

From the dent in the bag it looked as if a book had been delivered in it except I couldn’t remember what I might have ordered. I went back to the computer and called up my emails. Usually if I’ve ordered anything I get a confirmatory email saying the order has been accepted and often one saying it’s been despatched.

Finally after ten minutes of searching, I found it. I’d ordered Jim Al Khalili’s book on quantum biology. I know Daddy hadn’t borrowed it because he wouldn’t open a package addressed to me unless I asked him to. None of the others have any interest in Quantum Mechanics except a certain young lady who might be feeling miffed at me.

Creeping up the stairs I saw her lying on her bed reading my new book. I walked into her bedroom and she looked up and said, “This is really good, Mummy, you should read it.”