The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2973 by Angharad Copyright© 2016 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 don’t claim to be a visionary, at times I suspect I’m too sentimental to be a good scientist, but as the ideas I’d discussed with Mr Siemens at the well known business machine makers felt like something from Arthur C Clark or Isaac Asimov. If we were able to do the research, we’d need specialist equipment because we’d need to be able to scan the whole dormouse. It’s not just the brain that’s involved but the whole body.

There are probably studies of dormice hibernating elsewhere looking at various systems running in them from blood products to heart rates, probably some looking at other organ activity as well. I’d get a post grad student to do me a total literature search if the tender was accepted—it might be some of the other universities over priced themselves. We’re not going to be cheap, the way it was looking the project just kept getting bigger and bigger and likely to run for several years. It could give us unprecedented information about dormice. Suddenly from being a dormouse counter, this could become the most comprehensive study ever taken. I’d also have to ensure we had ownership of some of the data for future publication. That could prove to be a sticking point and raise the issue of who owns the data, the commissioners of the research or the researchers? It would depend upon the contract.

Next, we’d need to discover how feasible the research was, if it turned out to be pie in the sky, I’d need to discuss it with Mr Siemens. Somehow, I didn’t think it would be but using the formulae created by Tom but modified by me, would determine how much each step would cost. It felt expensive but I could see potential for offshoots especially if distance space travel were to be investigated such as going to Mars. The possibilities were almost endless and my head was spinning.

The girls piled into my estate car—sorry, shooting brake—sod that sort of jibberish, it’s an estate car with seats in the boot, into which Trish and Livvie climbed—they spend much of the journey, all ten minutes of it, waving to drivers following us.

Back at home, I sent the girls to change out of their uniforms—not that they need much prompting. It makes me smile that Trish was so fond of the kilt uniform when she first got to wear it—now she has to wear it, she can’t wait to get it off and into jeans, most of the time. I went and changed too, and returned downstairs in jogging bottoms with a sweat shirt over a tee—it had gone a bit cooler the last couple of evenings—I wanted to be comfortable of body if I was racking my remaining brain cell to do a proposal and cost it.

Diane had set up a meeting with three other departments to see if we could produce the equipment and analyse the data it produced. It was beginning to look as if we’d be talking hundreds of thousands of pounds per year, perhaps more. If we get the work, and it’s not guaranteed, if I don’t get appointed, I’m tempted to try and claim intellectual property—nah, that would only apply to the survey.

By dinner, I’d exhausted all the ideas I could think of as well as myself. It was as much as I could to stay awake to eat my evening meal, I felt that tired. I cleared up helped by Julie, who probably shows more cooperation now that she did when it was supposed to be her job.

I’d talked with the others over dinner but few if any had any useful suggestions except to laugh at how flustered I was becoming over the whole business. Tom was noticeable by his absence as soon as the dust settled. He’d scuttled off back under his stone as soon as he realised I was asking difficult questions—and there he stayed.

In bed I dreamt of a visit from Spike who claimed I was turning into a lab rat and accused me of using her precious offspring as subjects for experimentation. I told her that they’d still have a better survival rate than in the wild where it was suggested two thirds of hibernating dormice didn’t survive the winter. She had no answer to that except to accuse me of killing her babies by releasing them in the wild. I woke up crying and as Simon was up in town, had no one to comfort me. I almost went and slept with one of the girls, I felt so alone. Perhaps this research project wasn’t as good as I first thought, but then, in order to survive, as a department, we needed to get the contract.

At breakfast I reminded Tom that I was working hard to get the contract although it wasn’t guaranteed I’d be there to run the research. On his bemused response, I reminded him I had to apply for my own job. He dismissed my concerns suggesting the situation regarding long term appointments was not on any agenda he knew of for at least two years. This was unofficial but I could take his word for it and if I pulled off this piece of research, it would indicate that not only would I be the unequivocal world authority on the hazel dormouse but I’d also be very marketable as a professor of mammalian biology.

When I asked him if he meant Sussex, he shrugged and said, he thought I could do better. Which had to mean, London or Oxbridge. Did I really want to live in London or Cambridge, or Oxford for that matter? Not really, but then I hadn’t wanted to live in Portsmouth either, it just happened.

Perhaps I should just retire and breed dormice for fun or release. It’s bizarre but the Wildlife and Countryside act only refers to wild dormice and doesn’t relate to captive bred ones until comes to releasing them—then they could be considered to be a potential threat to natives in the area. We have to get permission to release them and submit evidence that none of them are suffering from any diseases. However, any old farmer can use a flail cutter to trim his hedges without being aware he has dormice in them and kill dozens of them. It all changes if he’s been informed they’re there, and he could be charged for killing or injuring a protected species but in practice it rarely happens. Natural England rarely prosecutes because the people at the top are all friends of the offenders or shall we say, the people above them.

We claim the EU is corrupt—it almost certainly is, but so is the system in this country, it just happens to be better than most other places, which is no recommendation.