The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2743 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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I had thought to mention my worries about graham to Si, but then thought if he took it the wrong way, Graham could end up in intensive care. I suppose I had Diane to talk to about it or if it really worried me, Stella; though there was always the possibility she could fling it back at me in front of Simon—unlikely I know, but she does occasionally say the most hurtful things; mind you, I have been known to spread my venom now and again, too.

Sleep didn’t come easily that night as I lay there thinking about how I tell Graham to keep his distance. Why can’t he get a girlfriend? Then I thought about him, he’s coming up twenty five and still lives at home—okay, these days so do lots of twenty somethings. It looks as if she buys his clothes, either that or he shares with his dad—he dresses like a forty year old. His hair needs some style and his straggly beard wouldn’t look amiss on a rough collie. He’s clean enough and seems a decent enough sort of bloke, but I think I realise why he doesn’t have a girlfriend or appears not to.

The radio alarm woke me up and I crawled out of bed hoping the shower might re-energise me. Quite why I have these inane ideas I don’t know but I was still knackered albeit clean and kn...

“Keeping you up am I?” said Diane in response to my monster yawn.

“Don’t, I didn’t sleep very well.”

“Any reason?”

“Nah, it happens sometimes and the little one is teething.”

“Ah, yes the joys of parenthood.”

“You know them then?” I’d lied but given the speed at which I did it, I felt a bit disappointed in myself but as she is my secretary not my mother, she doesn’t have to know more than the minimum.

“My two are in school, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

“No, I suppose not, did you have problems with teething?”

“As far as I know every parent does—or shall I rephrase that, every mother does, fathers tend to get off a bit lighter—because they have to go to work.” She made that irritating quotation mark on the latter part of her sentence.

“Mothers usually have more patience, but not always—some dads are very good. Alas Simon is not one of those. He’s barely domesticated and cons the kids into doing things for him—for which there is usually some fee agreed.”

“You’re joking—they expect a fee to do anything?”

“Not with me they don’t, they’ll do it and like it; with him it’s a rod he’s made for his own back.”

“And he always pays them something?”

“He’s sometimes crafty there, telling them they need to do so and so in order to earn their pocket money.”

“What sort of things?”

“Varies, working the washing machine or the dishwasher, sometimes changing the baby—they’re all capable of doing that, except him—and he can do it if he has to, he just doesn’t like handling pee and poo.”

“Who does—it’s revolting.”

“Quite.”

“So have you worked out what to say to Graham?”

“Sort of.”

“You mean you haven’t, don’t you?”

“I mean I haven’t don’t I—do I?”

“Do you or don’t you?”

“Ah, there lies the rub, whether tis nobler...”

“I must admit my previous boss didn’t quote Shakespeare at me.”

“See what you’ve been missing?”

“Not quite...”

“Right, missus, to work before I lose the urge and go home instead.”

“Your diary, Professor.”

“Oh poo, why have I got Graham this afternoon?”

“So you can strike while the resolve is fresh.”

“What resolve? I haven’t decided what I’m going to do or say yet.”

“No but I can smell it in my water...”

“Diane, that’s a mixed metaphor and apart from giving me cause to chuckle, makes you look a bit dumb.”

“Why, what did I say?”

“You declared you could smell it in your water.”

“I didn’t did I?”

“Would I lie to you?” Yes frequently.

“Oh, obviously a senior moment.”

“I thought those didn’t happen until after forty.”

“I must need the practice.”

“Enough of this banter, to work, wage slave.”

“Very good, oppressor of working mothers.”

“Hang about. How can I be an oppressor of working mothers—I’m one myself?”

“Another senior moment? Well what could you oppress?”

“The expansion of adolescent minds? I mean if we teach them to think goodness knows what could happen.”

“More tea?”

“I haven’t had the first one yet.”

“Oops—I’ll get right on it, Professor.”

“Better had—well go on then.”

The rest of the morning seemed to pass in a very similar manner and neither of us got very much done. I sent her to get me a roll for my lunch which I ate while at my desk—very non PC. One is supposed to stop for half an hour away from one’s desk if one works so many hours per day.

I was so busy that when two o’clock arrived bringing Graham with it, I almost ignored the tap on the door. I felt like calling out, ‘Go away, but it came out as enter. He rather diffidently came in brandishing a bunch of flowers.

“For you, professor.”

“For what reason?”

He blushed and physically seemed to shrink. “I—uh thought you’d like them.”

“Graham, I’m your professor, your mentor not your mother, wife or girlfriend. You do not bring me flowers or anything else except your data or issues affecting your research, is that clear?”

“Yes, professor.”

“I take it you’ve brought that?”

“Uh yes.”

“Right let’s hear it then...” An hour passed before I heard myself say, “You are quite convinced the data supports the assertion that Sycamore can play a very important role in deciduous woodland in the absence or low numbers of English oak, with regard to dormouse ecology?”

“Yes, Professor, the data supports it.”

“Good man, now either take those home to your mother or give them to Diane my secretary—she’s having a hard time working for a veritable slave driver—or so she keeps telling me.”

He left and Diane poked her head through my doorway. “Why have I been given flowers?”

“For helping with his session with Trish yesterday.”

“Yes I did rather, didn’t I? Only about ninety per cent of it.”

“Of course, under my instruction.”

“Naturally.”

“So you lazy swab, get back to work and let me return to mine.”

“No children up chimneys or down’t pits?”

“Not today.”

“Are you going to get them?”

“What—the children?”

“Yes.”

I flicked open my legs and looked at them.

“Problems?”

“Not really, I’ve always had skinny legs.”

“You’re going to be late, professor.”

“Late for what?”

“The school letting out.”

“Oh poo, late again.”