The next morning I phoned Stella; she seemed quite well as her morning sickness had been easier the past day or so. I was still mightily jealous, but I did at least have my man, she didn’t–so I suppose we were even in a perverse sort of way.

I told her that I was being pressured to finish Des’ film, which she encouraged me to do. I told her that I had the use of his cottage and his equipment, of which she seemed to approve, reminding me to feed his cat. I felt guilty at that, seeing as I’d already wished it on his neighbour.

I started winding things up at the university, except the possibilities of doing the harvest mice. I asked Neal to cost half a dozen cages–at this rate we’d need a bigger building–and send the results to Tom. If we were asked to do the harvest mouse film, he’d need to get funding. The mice build nests on the stalks of wheat or reeds, weaving like a knot of fibres with the nest in the middle. They are very skilful climbers using their prehensile tails. We’d need to have some form of miniature wheat field or reed bed in the cages and that’s going to cost.

Harvest mice or Mycromis minutus are Britain’s smallest rodent, weighing in a few grams and being only a couple of inches long, unless you count the tail which can be half as long again. Quite how I’m going to cope with all these things, I’m not sure.

I bade farewell to my tutorial students, as it was unlikely I’d be around for the rest of the academic year making this wretched film–why do I allow people to talk me into these things? I knew when we started the narrative part of the filming. I’d feel incredibly self conscious and stupid, talking to a camera. Maybe I should borrow Simon’s camcorder and practice to reduce the embarrassment.

A couple more days and I’d meet up with Alan White, Des’ friend who does freelance work and some stuff for the Beeb. He’d only agreed to give me some advice, so I wasn’t expecting him to help directly, but there was no way I could edit and produce a film, I couldn’t even manage it with a tape recorder with great clonks each time I’d switched it on or off. I needed to find an expert and quickly.

I spoke to Henry–eventually, he tried to tell me that he was busy with the banking collapse, I mean, how significant is that compared to this dormouse film? The man has his priorities upside down, especially as he and his flipping bank started it all, wanting me as their poster girl. He did agree to help with some funding up to twenty thousand, so at least I had something to play with. I could now offer some money plus a percentage of the profits. I felt a little more empowered.

I sent Maskell an email asking for sponsorship, he matched Henry’s figure. I now really did have a starting point when I met Alan. This creeping about begging for money was a real pain. I happened to bump into Tom at lunch time, and complained about it, his reply stunned me: “Now you know what I do for a living.” It had never occurred to me before. I mean we all know professors are people who lead research teams, not beggars. It appears not, they do spend much of their time inviting funding to pay for the research. They’re entrepreneurs not academics. I’m just amazed that Tom found time to take me under his wing as well as all the other things he does–but then he is a pretty amazing guy. I only wished at times that he stopped trying to encourage me to fulfill his belief that I’m something special, the Great Prophet of Ecology. I thought Al Gore had already got there.

I wanted to go out for ride on my bike, but was up to my elbows in paperwork. Tom reminded me we were still running the mammal survey, and there was a backlog of work to do. We left the office at seven that evening and had a fish and chip supper from a take-away. No wonder I was getting fat. I put the bike on the rollers and did an hour’s work out before I went to bed. It was a mistake. Instead of me collapsing exhausted between the sheets, I collapsed exhausted, but unable to sleep. I tossed and turned half the night.

My last day in the office for some time, other than as an occasional visitor and dormouse adviser–assuming the dormice needed any advice. I was kept busy much of the day and, Tom insisted he take Pippa and me out for lunch. I had my usual tuna salad, Tom had his curry and Pippa, some vegetarian pasta thing.

Then we did paper work all the afternoon and I loaded up the car after clearing out my office. I had a tear in my eye when I said goodbye to all my colleagues.

“It’s only a temporary absence,” said Tom, trying to reassure me, “it’s a secondment, not the sack.”

They presented me with a bouquet of flowers and I blubbed, then left, clutching the expensive display of flora as I left. I sat in the car and howled for a few minutes before driving home. I’d come all the way back here only to be displaced again–was somebody trying top tell me something, apart from Don Maskell?

Simon called that evening. “I thought you were going to Bristol?”

“I am, tomorrow. Why?”

“I was going to meet you there tonight, remember?”

“Damn, I hadn’t, I’ve been so busy, I’ve done fifty letters and emails today,” I said pointedly.

“I do that every day,” Simon said wearily. We chatted a bit longer before he asked what time I could be there tomorrow.

“What time would you like me there, tomorrow?”

“Ten-ish?”

“I can do ten, what time will you be there?”

“I can do ten as well,” he claimed.

“Are you driving or using the train?”

“Not sure yet, I’ll let you know.”

“You’d better had if you want a lift from the station.”

“Cathy, I’m your lord and master, you should be happy to drop everything–(he paused here)–to do my bidding.”

“Drop everything? You’re joking, I hope–that’s only if you wish to continue living.”

“It’s a figure of speech and I think of your figure every time I say it.”

“You lying toad,” j’accuse.

“Oh, Cathy, you can be so hurtful.”

“Oh, Simon, you can be a real whinger,” I said back mocking his tone.

“Don’t you want me to come tomorrow?”

“Simon, I’d love to see you, but only if you want to come. I’m not getting into any stupid arguments about the semantics involved. If you don’t want to come, I’ll survive and do some more chores or paperwork.”

“You’ve heard of the credit squeeze?”

“Yes, Simon, I have.”

“If I put my wallet in my trouser pocket, will you wrap your delectable thighs around me and squeeze my credit cards?”

“Simon, you are a naughty boy,” I said in mock chastisement, as I blushed profusely.

“You’ve only just noticed?” he threw back at me.

“No, I’ve been aware of it for some time, it’s just I hadn’t mentioned it to you.”

“I don’t believe you,” he said.

“That is your problem, not mine. I am going to put this phone down now and go to my bed, so I can rise refreshed and relaxed for seeing you tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah, okay.” He said and rang off. I flopped onto my bed and fell asleep without undressing or cleaning my teeth. I had to do both at three o’clock that morning, it made going back to sleep a difficult task.