The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2701 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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After lunch I settled down in front of the telly to watch the women’s race prior to the final stage of the TdF. It was tanking down in Paris, mind you it was on and off here as well. I lost count of the number of crashes on the wet cobbles, it was silly but while all the sprinters were watching each other a Dutch girl slipped away with seven kilometres to go and managed to hold it to win the race. Lizzie Amitstead was fourth or fifth. She crashed last year, so I suppose this was an improvement.

We had an hour to wait for the men’s coverage and as the ride into Paris is more of a procession than a race, it gets a bit boring except for the pictures from the helicopter of the surrounding countryside and items of interest. The rain actually stopped just as they arrived in Paris and given the crashes in the women’s race, they gave everyone the same time as they crossed the finish line the first time. All they had to do then was complete the race.

I got increasingly anxious for Cavendish. He wasn’t on his best form and without Renshaw and Tony Martin, his lead out train was going to be unable to lead him out properly. Bloody Greipel did it again, though some berk from Europcar crossed his line as well, so poor old Cav was nowhere in the sprint. I thought back to when Wiggo in the yellow jersey led him out to take the sprint four years ago. It was crazy, but nice crazy. So the Brits have won it three times in four years, will Froomey be up to defending his title next year. Richie Port is leaving so things will be different. Perhaps I’ll even be able to go and watch some of it—well I can dream, can’t I? Mind you, if I saw the bloke fling pee in Froome’s face or any other rider for that matter, I might react in a hostile manner and deck him. I’d do the same if I saw tacks being scattered at a bike race because it’s such a stupid thing to do and could be quite dangerous for the riders. I really do wonder about people today, they don’t have fun unless somebody gets hurt or killed. What a sad lot of specimens humanity seems to be becoming, all I can do is try to make sure all those children I have some influence over learn what is right and wrong and not confuse the two at any time.

Simon had been at the rugby club seeing what the arrangements were for watching the world cup which is being played in England and Wales. I hope Scotland does well, it would really lift him. I’ll support Wales again having lived closer to Cardiff than Twickenham. Tom will support all of them but secretly hope Scotland wins through to the later stages. I suspect he’ll be disappointed once New Zealand, Australia and South Africa get going, but if miracles do happen...nah.

David having made lunch, I sent him home and did the tea myself with help from Cindy, who wants to learn how to keep house—pity none of mine do. Unless they find well paid jobs and can employ a help, they could have a bit of a shock coming. I suppose they could live at home, but once they flee the nest to go to uni, I doubt they’ll be back—but as long as they stay in touch, I won’t mind (liar, of course I’ll miss them).

This time of year, we have fewer students around, mostly post grads doing research while everything is quiet. The regular dormouse surveys have to be undertaken and I got a text saying we were short for the next one. I asked for volunteers and Danni immediately put her hand up so did Trish. Cindy wasn’t too sure, messing about in woods is not her idea of fun; Danni seemed surprised. I sent a text to Delia and she was up for it—so we might just manage. I sent Craig a reply saying we’d do one sector, he was relieved as with our help he’d just about manage.

The week seemed to be marked by cool temperatures and showers, though the latter did dry up eventually. The children amused themselves and Danni began training for the start of the football season in a week or two’s time. This included running with Trish accompanying her occasionally, cycling with me and Trish occasionally and Hannah though at times I had to let Danni go on as Han was holding us back. I did the odd turbo session to try and improve my fitness—gives new meaning to tedium. Danni came over at one point and we set her bike on the turbo and she seemed able to outride me. I’d have to look to my laurels if she wasn’t going to catch me out on the road. I was determined I wouldn’t let her do so without a fight.

On the Thursday, I rose early and was out unaccompanied for an hour which I used to ride up Portsdown hill and back. It was cool in the early morning air though there were one or two cyclists about with similar intentions. I suppose I was in the middle of the group who climbed it, some were faster and one or two slower than I was and once again I wondered about racing, except I was probably too old now to do it seriously. Then, I wasn’t that good anyway, so why bother with all the agony of training.

I got home as the others were just stirring so I managed a shower before anyone noticed I’d gone. Trish did find my smelly cycling kit and cast aspersions for a few minutes but I refused to engage in discussion with her and she shut up.

Danni had a practice match on Saturday, so could we have ride on Sunday? I said it was possible knowing full well she wanted a race. If I was right, she’d cast the first stone and it would be up to me to put up or shut up. She went off to see Cindy while I decided an hour on the turbo—I was up against the strength of youth plus someone who was lighter, however, my strength lay in riding up hills—had she caught me up? We’d see on Sunday.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2702 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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The days were pretty well dry but the sun didn’t seem terribly warm for July perhaps made worse by persistent cool winds, irrespective of the direction from which they blew. Once again I managed an hour on the turbo each day and on the Thursday rose early and rode up the downs and back. I felt I was climbing better and feeling stronger on the flat; how long I could sustain it was another matter, but this old lioness felt capable of defending her alpha position against a youthful challenger.

Friday, I suggested we had a family run, which was agreed with Trish and Hannah and reluctantly by Danni—she was playing a friendly football match on Saturday. I decided I would do a ride first then come back for the youngsters; I would also suggest we had a ride on Sunday, when I would allow Danielle to challenge me if she wanted. My plan was to take her up over Portsdown and see what happened.

However, we still had Thursday to get through and after taking the girls out for a walk to feed the ducks I left them to their own devices until lunch. I’d told Danielle that we were committed to the dormouse survey on Saturday morning which she’d forgotten about but said that it was fine providing I got her home to play soccer for three o’clock. As we were only surveying one site that seemed easily doable.

In the afternoon we went out into the garden and trimmed hedges—I did the trimming with the electric trimmer and the girls scooped up the bits and put them in the wheelbarrow. It took two hours and for their assistance I gave them each some ice cream. Danni had opted out and gone over to see Cindy.

We had a system for cutting the hedges, putting a tarpaulin under the bit being cut, then dragging it to the compost heap and tipping it on there. However, even though I saved loads of back breaking work some pieces escaped the system, at times quite a few, and it was these the girls were picking up for me.

Meems seemed to tire of the task most quickly, Livvie and Trish sticking to it until I’d finished the bits I’d wanted to tidy. Then I helped them clear up and Trish got to push the barrow to the compost heap while I dragged the last load in the tarp. It was at this point that Livvie spotted some movement and shrieked, dashing off towards the house at breakneck speed. Of course Trish and I were curious as to what caused her exodus and we both stood still and quiet.

Our patience was rewarded by a grass snake slithering into view, which was probably what Livvie saw. Knowing it to be harmless, we left it to its own devices and took the various tools and the barrow back to the shed. It was here that a large orb web spider fell out of the tree alongside the shed and into my hair. To say I went hysterical is probably an exaggeration but not by much. To cut a long story short, Trish, had to slap me to calm me down and enable her to untangle the unfortunate arachnid from my hair. I apologised to her for my lack of control and she just smiled, “Don’t worry, Mummy, I won’t say anything.”

I didn’t know if she would honour her silence or not, she’s a little young to realise the significance of such pledges, but I can’t deny it or won’t, so I could be at her mercy in the near future. I can, however, categorically state I won’t be saying anything to Livvie about freaking out about a snake.

Hannah had been reading some children’s science books I’d got the girls ages ago, she said she felt really enthusiastic to study science which pleased me. She wasn’t sure what she’d like to study and I reassured her that the object of school science lessons was to enable a basic grounding in some of the more understandable theories or laws and to offer a taster of what the various branches were about.

She said she quite like the idea of biology except cutting things up to see how they worked. “We already know quite a lot of it so why have we go to go killing worms or frogs again when you lot did it twenty years ago?”

“Sadly it’s also about learning techniques, you can’t know what dissecting something is like until you do it. Then you have to understand systems like respiration or digestion and compare how that differs in different groups of animals. For instance cats have much shorter guts than dogs or humans because cats are carnivores, they’re designed to eat flesh while dogs and humans are omnivores, designed to eat almost anything, so have a much longer gut and comparing that to herbivores like cows which have an even bigger gut plus the regurgitation and mastication required to digest large quantities of herbiage.”

“You know so much, Mummy, I’ll never remember all that.”

“Who said you have to? You only need to know it if it’s part of the syllabus you’re studying. I’ve also been around a bit longer than you, like three times as long, so I’ve acquired information in much larger quantities and remember, I am a biologist, so some of this stuff is my bread and butter, I teach it—and sometimes teachers learn something from their notes, too.”

She laughed at my self-deprecation, but it was true, some teachers teach from their notes without actually digesting what they’re saying. It therefore goes from the notes of the teacher to the notes of the student without passing through the mind of either. Hence my determination to use novelty to disarm any defensive behaviour in my students. It also keeps them on edge, they have no idea what’s coming next so can’t block it.

I believe learning is fun or can be, so my playfulness enables this in likeminded students, some of whom come to my lectures for fun. If they take away the idea that learning can be fun they might actually learn something. Given they’re paying up to nine thousand pounds a year to play with us, I sincerely hope they’re getting their money’s worth. In defence of my methods, I seem to get far less complaint about my teaching methods and those of my staff than my equivalent in the chemistry department. Mind you Brian Cox showed that even quantum physics could be fun when it involves setting fire to James May, and embarrassed Jonathan Ross when he couldn’t do the maths to demonstrate Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle. Glad he didn’t ask me, I couldn’t do the maths either.

I referred Hannah to my Brian Cox collection of DVDs and she went off to watch one of them. If I can ditch the others, after I shower, I might watch it with her.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2703 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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Normally when I’m working, Friday morning seems a nice day—it’s the day before Saturday and the weekend. In the school holidays, it seems like most other days except there is still something special about Saturdays, though quite what, I’m not sure. It’s probably still the same excitement I used to feel as a schoolchild myself when the weekend approached, although home could be a place of unhappiness. I’d be reminded of my incompleteness by all my mother’s things lying about the place. I’d have to give her hand cleaning the place or helping my dad do the garden or wash the car. If I helped with the chores I got some pocket money, if I didn’t help I got very little, unless I was ill or very close to exams, then I’d be excused duties.

It got me into the habit of expecting to work, to do my share. Why should your mother do everything in the house or your dad the garden or the garage? We should all help if we enjoy the advantages of being in a household, it did me no harm and taught me indirectly how to do things in both home and garden. My parents were great on practical skills. However, Dad did sometimes query the advisability of me learning women’s chores—he was so determined to make a man of me.

I recalled a conversation between my parents which I presume they didn’t realise I could hear. My dad was complaining that he didn’t think I needed to know how to sew as much as she was teaching me. “So, if anything happens to me, you’ll be able to sort out any damaged hems or split seams, will you?”

“You know I won’t be able to,” protested my dad.

“So it’s an advantage that Charlie does then, isn’t it? If I was ill or away, he’d be able to stand in for me, wouldn’t he?”

“Why wouldn’t it wait for you to come home?”

“Charlie has two pairs of school trousers, if the hem came down, he’d only have one pair, any mishap and he’d be trouserless for school, then what would you do?”

“Buy him some more I suppose.”

“You know how boys grow and how we agreed we wouldn’t get him more than two pairs of school trousers per term.”

“But it makes him look such a sissy, how many boys his age can sew as proficiently as he does?”

“When he goes to university, he’ll be pretty self sufficient in doing his own running repairs. You don’t complain about him being able to fix a puncture faster than you can.”

“That’s different...”

“How is it? It’s just him doing necessary repairs. I don’t want him wearing trousers to university with the hems hanging down or being too long. He’ll be able to alter or repair them and it’ll mean he can concentrate on his studies instead of trying to con some girl into doing it for him.”

“More likely she’ll con him into fixing hers, big sissy.”

“Being self sufficient does not equate with being effeminate. I could always teach you instead, Derek.”

“No, that won’t be necessary, you teach Charlie home craft skills if you wish.” I remembered smirking when she called his bluff as I was now. She always did it if she wanted to out manoeuvre him and his rigid views of gender roles made him quite vulnerable to her challenges. It was sad really, because he was actually quite a decent bloke except for his trans or homophobia, which twenty years ago was much more prevalent and acceptable. It isn’t now, which to some extent is due to those who’ve pushed back the boundaries in society and also due to the softening of the official line on minority groups.

Having said that I could almost feel the hidings I got when I pushed his buttons, especially as a teenager. But it’s what teens do, they experiment by challenging boundaries. The skill in parenting is allowing them to do so and stay safe, without being pulled into the game, because that’s what it is, a game. The risks of not playing the game is you don’t always quite know what stupid things they get inveigled into by their peers—and some of them are pretty stupid, like tombstoning or planking.

Because I didn’t hang around in a gang of boys I was saved the stupid thing of the day in those days, most of which involved risking life or limb usually to impress some girl or other. The most dangerous thing I did was to get even more girly when Murray and even my dad tried to embarrass it out of me. Growing my hair, wearing it up in a high ponytail, wearing nail varnish or makeup when instructed to wear a skirt; all of them were high stakes games and could have rebounded against me, instead it gave me courage to out bluff them.

Teenage boys are driven by testosterone, especially when trying to impress girls and it causes them to become increasingly reckless in their behaviour, which they apparently can’t seem to stop. Being somewhat unresponsive to testosterone, I was at least spared that element of recklessness, though some might consider I’ve made up for it since in some of the things I’ve done. I would argue most of them have been in defence of loved ones, especially my children or Simon.

I was astonished to learn that England had won another test match against Australia. If Simon is seen walking round with a big smug grin then I’ll know he’s taken money off his Australian colleague again.

The other item in the news of some American dental surgeon shooting a protected lion is more alarming. Why these people have got to kill things is beyond me, I suppose it shows what sort of a man he is—a total arsehole. The poor animal took forty hours to die, I’ll leave you to judge him yourselves, I know what I feel and it sure isn’t friendly.

“So are we going for a ride, Mummy?” asked Portsmouth’s answer to Marianne Vos.

“Where’s Danielle?” I asked.

“Oh she went out hours ago.”

“To see Cindy, I suppose?”

“Dunno, do I?” Trish shrugged, “But me an’ Han are ready to go when you are.”

“Okay, better go and get changed then...” before I could finish the sentence there was a flurry and a stampede up the stairs, looks like we’re going riding.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2704 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 changed into my riding kit and donned a gilet, the sun was nice but that breeze was cool verging on cold. I slipped on my cycling shoes and did up the ratchet fixings on them then clomped out to the shed with my helmet and mitts in my hand. Unlocking the door I brought out the three bikes we’d be using, mine was the Specialized. By the time the other two had arrived I’d checked the tyres and pumped some air into one of Trish’s.

“Can I have some pedals like Trish’s, Auntie Cathy.”

“Let’s get you used to riding the bike first, Trish has had hers for some time.” She had basic toe clip things, Hannah had simple pedals which are safer to use for beginners. Hannah had ridden bikes before but I wanted her happy with the different feel of a road bike and the brakes and gear changers. A few more rides and I’ll feel happier about changing pedals for something a bit better.

Riding with these two wasn’t going to be much of a workout but it had to be better than sitting about. We set off at ten miles an hour and I was expecting them to complain in half a mile. To my surprise they didn’t, in fact Hannah asked if we could go a little faster, so I increased it to twelve miles an hour.

Okay it wasn’t racing speed but my companions are only ten years old. I thought they did really well and on the way back, Hannah actually set the pace at fifteen mph. Trish struggled but wasn’t going to let another girl beat her, so she gamely stayed with us. An hour and a half later we were home, having had a cake and a drink whilst out.

“Goodness, you all look a bit flushed,” declared Simon.

“We’ve been cycling,” I said stating the obvious, we were all wearing cycling gear.

“Ah, so it wasn’t shark fishing?”

“Simon, use your loaf for more than making sandwiches. Do we look like we’ve been shark fishing?”

“Now you come to mention it, no you don’t.”

“We couldn’t get Kiki to act as bait for us.”

“As a dogfish?”

That was genuinely funny for him, though dogfish are small sharks, being cartilaginous fish unlike herring which are bony fish. It’s thought the sharks and their kin are older species than some bony fish but are so successful that they still compete with their younger brethren, who frequently end up as meals. Sharks are extremely efficient hunters being designed for finding and catching prey which can vary by the size of the hunter. Great whites, such as featured in the film Jaws are thought to take prey items as large as elephant seals, which can weigh up to a ton. Interestingly, the largest of the sharks, the whale shark, eats tiny creatures like plankton and is relatively harmless.

I get confused as to the status of sharks, sometimes we’re being told they could be endangered or certain species are, the next it appears they’re laying waste surfers and divers along the coasts of Australia or California. However, one thing which humans do which is despicable, is to make shark fin soup, a Chinese delicacy and frequently this means hunters simply cutting the dorsal fin off the back of the shark and leaving it to drown. The rest of the fish isn’t used and it’s done on an industrial scale, with areas the size of football pitches being used to dry the fins in the sun. I believe after pressure from various conservation bodies, several governments have pressured the Chinese to control the hunting of the sharks.

I’m not a good swimmer so the idea of scuba diving doesn’t really appeal, besides the experts like Cousteau made it look so easy, anyone who can’t do it after a five minute lesson, seems to be disappointed. I’d love to see beneath the sea, but don’t think I’d ever make the grade for serious diving. I’ll stick to swimming in a pool, preferably the one in the yard of the villa in Menorca.

I was genuinely pleased with the girls, they’d both risen to the challenge and given me a gentle work out and we’d done about a dozen miles. Hannah was asking about longer rides and I pointed out that would involve some hill climbs. Trish seemed to lose interest at this point, but Hannah was still keen.

Then it was a case of a quick change and off to do the dormouse count. Danni had been supposed to help us and when I texted her, she apologised and said she’d forgotten. I told her not to forget her soccer game.

At the woodland, we entered the survey area and both of the girls had something to carry. Trish had the big bag for placing the nest boxes in when we suspected there might be residents, while Hannah carried my spring balance and a small bag for weighing any we found.

Unfortunately, I had to check all the boxes because neither of my assistants was tall enough to see into the boxes nor to lift them down off the posts or trees they were tied to, so that fell to me. We had forty boxes to do, though most would be empty, we should find one or two occupied. Delia arrived after we’d done the first quadrant, which had proved fruitless. Now we had two adults it would move along a bit quicker. Apparently, she’d had to wait for her mother to come home before she could borrow the car to drive out to us. She had sent me a text but I’d not heard it arrive.

Hannah got to handle her first wild dormouse, a young male who simply blinked back at her when she held him. I took a photo to record the event. Delia got to weigh the second one which was a larger specimen and appeared unchipped according to my reader, so while they checked the next couple of boxes, I injected a silicon chip under the skin of its back and recorded the number of it. We’d recognise that mouse if we caught him again. When I released him he seemed none the worse for his ordeal.

Trish go to do the last mouse we caught—to weigh it and sex it. She was spot on in identifying it as female and we discovered it was two years old and had been previously chipped. I checked the number against my list and then recorded it again as present.

My three companions were all enthralled by meeting our little furry friends and Hannah said she wanted to be a biologist too. Trish was more circumspect though when I suggested she could always do quantum biology, she sounded more positive. I found the ordinary stuff challenging enough without thinking about the effect of proton tunnels in birds' brains. Nah, I’m just an over qualified bean counter, but I enjoy it.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2705 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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We arrived back just in time to hear that our very England International had scored two goals and set up two more in a four two win. Hannah riposted, “Well we all got to handle some wild dormice.”

“Yeah, okay, sorry about that—it went completely out of my head.” Danni blushed and looked very girlish.

“Your loss,” replied Trish, “Where’s this website about quantum biology, Mummy?” I told her to google it and see what she could find.

David had done cottage pie as he wasn’t sure what time anyone would be home, my lot fell upon it as if they hadn’t eaten for days—mind you, it was pretty damn good, as his food usually is and I ate my share as well.

I caught the end of the Ride London Classic where Ben Swift was pipped again at the line. He finished second last year and third this time, but he’s been off the bike a long time having had shoulder surgery, so had no reason to feel anything but pleased with himself.

After dinner I went and did some survey work and added my dormouse sightings to the database we keep at the university. Looks like the others had four positives all new records. I’ll have to do some number crunching one of these days to try and estimate the number of mice we have on all our sites. I have a horrible feeling, it’s going to be down on last year. The mild winter we had may well have done for several of them, they wake up and there isn’t enough food for them, so they hibernate again and die, not having enough fat to keep them going. Fortunately, the captive programme is going quite well and we may well release some more this year as well as hold a decent breeding stock for next.

I’ve managed to increase the funding we have to do this, and we should have a few more cages installed by September. I might ride in tomorrow and check on everything, though our new technician, Angus, is pretty good with them. He’d previously been in charge of rats at a London university, so was good with rodents. He says the dormice are far cuter—compared to rats—duh.

I persuaded Daddy to read a story to the young uns, though at nine and ten, they should be reading them themselves, but I suppose it brings the evening to a nice close and they usually sleep all night with no problems. By this time of course the little ones have been in bed over an hour but they don’t wake up, presumably because they recognise familiar voices or sleep very deeply.

Finishing on the computer, I returned to the other adults just in time to get the last glass of Merlot, Simon, Sammi and Julie had polished off the rest and were engaged in some deep discussion about data bases and the Data Protection Act. It seems, now they’ve got the new shop, Julie and Phoebe want to use a computer system to do all their bookings. They have two new stylists and things are doing very well apparently, hence having the money to buy a computer.

Sammi was obviously being grilled to get the best deal and best software and she was suggesting a desktop not a laptop as Julie wanted. “It’s better value for money and less stealable than a lappy.”

“Yeah, but they take up more room, don’t they?” argued Julie.

“Depends on what you buy, but even a separate unit, screen and keyboard won’t take up a lot of room.”

“What about a tablet with a keypad?”

“Very nickable.”

“Yeah, but I could bring it home at night and do my accounts on it, as well.”

“A desk top is better, you could always download your takings onto a disk or stick and do them at home from that; you’d have a backup system, too.”

“Couldn’t I do that with a laptop or tablet just as easily?”

“You’d have to be careful what tablet you bought.”

“Well that’s where you come in, sister dear, to advise me...”

“I’m off up to bed,” I said to Simon and pecked him on the cheek. I had a new book I wanted to start reading though I suspected I wouldn’t even get as far as the end of the first chapter, all that fresh air and exercise. According to the latest thinking, high intensity interval training is the way to get fit. This means a moderate exercise start for a minute, then a minute of ninety per cent flat out, then a minute of moderate and so on for twenty intervals. I might try it on the turbo next time. It’s supposed to burn more fat as well.

I doubt I’d manage twenty intervals, but I could try some and see how far I got with it. It wouldn’t be all I did, as road riding is necessary to build stamina and strength without going crazy on the turbo—it’s so boring, that paint drying is quite exciting by comparison.

The news came on the radio as I got into bed, if Si isn’t with me, I just listen to the headlines and switch it off. Seems that Cilla Black has died aged seventy two. She was one of the Liverpool set that followed on the coat tails of the Beatles and according to my dad, her accent got more pronounced the more famous she got. I saw her on telly with Blind Date or some other obnoxious show, which my mother used to like. Bit sad, dying at seventy two, rather young these days—still perhaps she’d been ill for sometime or whatever else they say on these occasions.

The radio played a bit of, Anyone who had a heart, which I admit I had heard before but it was a bit before my time, so I really hadn’t listened to Cilla’s music, though I knew lots of Beatles stuff because we had their singles collection and copied those to my MP3 player when I was still at home.

I curled up with my book, a Commissario Brunetti story which apparently Simon had to prise from my sleeping fingers when he came up to bed as I was fast asleep and as predicted, hadn’t finished chapter one. He told me all this the next morning, a Sunday, and I woke ready to ride with the girls or against Danni if she felt up to the challenge—whatever, bring it on.

The ten year olds rarely came into bed with us these days, which I wasn’t complaining about, however, Cate, complete with freezing cold feet—whatever the weather—had begun to do so instead, wriggling and giggling until we woke up or got up. The joys of parenthood. At least Lizzie is just a little too small to manage it yet, but it won’t be long at the rate she’s toddling round the furniture—oh joy.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2706 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 rose early, well earlier than usual and after a quick breakfast rode into my office. It was still only eight o’clock. When Delia came in and saw notes were missing from her desk she wandered into my office, saw me and shrieked.

“It’s me, Delia.”

“Goodness, you made me jump, why didn’t you tell me you were coming in?”

“I only decided it a couple of hours ago. Right, I’ve signed all these,” I passed her a pile of letters. “I’ve done replies to these.” I held out the minitape she uses in her dictophone thingy, she does audio typing for me when required.

“Thank you, I suppose you want a tea or coffee?”

“Coffee might be nice for a change.”

“Coffee it is, oh, I really enjoyed our dormouse expedition.”

“I’m glad. I suppose we’ll have to find a replacement for you one of these days, when you desert us to become an unruly hedonist.”

“Is that what you did when you went to university?”

“Oh yes, some nights I only did four hours of study, but at weekends, I did eight per day.”

“That’s longer hours than half of them are in lectures and things.”

“It’s also why I got a good degree and they didn’t.”

“You got a first, didn’t you?”

“I did but university is also about integrating with others as young adults—I didn’t, consequently I can’t say I’m that good at it now. I’d rather be home with a good book than go out partying.”

“Can’t say I enjoy partying that much, too much booze and loud music.”

I shrugged as my response.

“I’ll make your coffee.”

I did another hour’s work then went to check on my dormice. Incredibly, Spike was still alive and had produced another litter. I gave her a hazelnut and she sat on my hand and ate it. I wondered if she remembered me or was just prepared to earn her treats by humouring humans. It must be awful being picked up and handled by creatures so much bigger and more powerful than you are. I’d never thought of it from their perspective before. She weighs about thirty five or forty grams and I come in at somewhere about sixty three kilos, that’s more than a thousand times as heavy—shades of King Kong or Godzilla. Just as well we don’t eat them, there’d be more calories in a boiled sweet.

Angus loves his work—reminds me of Neal, poor bugger, I quite miss him and he was a good technician. Heather is on holiday, so he’s got sole responsibility for looking after the laboratory side of the department. I’d asked them to do an inventory of everything we had—I had no idea, neither had anyone else, so if anyone took anything and didn’t return it, we’d have no idea until it was wanted again. I also suggested we keep a record of anyone borrowing equipment or books and set up a book to record it all in.

In lots of ways it shouldn’t be necessary, as all our students should be honest and see us as their Alma Mater and therefore love us and want to see us prosper as we do them. Some love us so much they had pinched three microscopes and were trying to sell them down the pub. Thankfully, they weren’t biology students, but they got sent down and prosecuted. Since then we’ve kept doors locked and change the code regularly—a four digit push button code. I’d love to get a pass card system so we could monitor who comes in and out but it’s too expensive.

After a quick chat with Angus, another biology graduate, I rode home to receive protests from Hannah and Trish, but none from Danni. They decided they wanted a ride and as soon as I agreed, they dashed off to change. “You not coming as well?” I asked Danielle.

“Bit boring waiting for them all the time.”

“I hope you didn’t hear me say that about you at their age.”

She blushed and decided to come. I got the map out and we looked at the route I was suggesting, though I don’t know how much the two younger girls understood, but basically I said if Danni gets bored I’ll race her from here up to the top of the hill and then we’ll come back down to you, you just keep riding along the cycle path and we’ll come back to you—don’t do anything else, understood?” they both nodded but I’m never sure how much of that is politeness rather than agreement.

Hannah and Trish did try to make life interesting and they shot off racing each other, which Danni and I couldn’t ignore, but it was hardly strenuous to catch them. Then we approached the place where I knew Danni would challenge me. I nodded and she shot off with me in hot pursuit, about quarter of a mile before the hill. I was nicely warmed up and cruised along behind her, then the hill arrived and after about a hundred or so yards it begins to bite, Danni changed down twice and I accelerated past her, staying in my previous gear. I heard her puffing and panting but she began to slip further and further behind, coming up to the lay-by at the top of the hill several minutes behind.

“Geez, Mum, you coulda told me you had a motor,” she gasped taking a long drink from her bidon.

I shrugged, I was probably climbing as well now as I’d been when Stella knocked me off my bike. I’d recaptured eight years of fitness and felt quite pleased with myself.

“How did you ride up like that?” asked my puzzled daughter.

“I used to be quite good at climbing.”

“Now you tell me.”

“C’mon let’s go and find the girls—last one down is a sissy.” I clipped in and rolled away and she flew past. However, being heavier is a disadvantage going up but a boon in going down and I caught and passed her half way down the hill and a little after that met up with Trish and Hannah who’d ridden further than I thought they would. Hannah even wanted to try riding up the hill, so I accompanied her for about half the way before she began to tire and stopped. I congratulated her and told her to keep practicing and eventually she’d be strong enough to ride the hills. Her light bodyweight meant she’d have to train far less than someone my size, plus of course I had experience and an understanding of the psychological element in cycling, especially with hills. The slightest doubt and you’ll fail.

Trish wasn’t interested in really riding, just in sauntering round which was fine but it would mean riding with the rest of us might get a bit boring. I suspected she’d decided we were all faster so she’d never win and what she can’t win easily, she won’t do. I needed to work on that element with her as sometimes really working for something gives more pleasure than something you’re naturally good at.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2707 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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“Hannah did really well on the hill,” I remarked to Trish as we went to shower.

“Yeah, so what?” she snottily replied.

“Given you’re a more experienced rider, I thought you might have given her a contest.”

“What for? Can’t do hills like you and Danni do.”

“You never will if you adopt that sort of attitude, young lady.”

“At least I came out with you, ’s more than Livvie.”

“Livvie hasn’t been that keen on bikes since she outgrew the Barbie bike, I thought you were.”

“Changed my mind.”

“Why?”

“Because I did, all right.”

“I think it’s because you’re scared of hard work.”

“Like why?”

“I see someone who is very clever and to who most things come fairly easy; however, riding a bike requires lots of practice to build up the strength and stamina required, plus of course the skills to ride hills or cope with traffic or distances.”

“What’s the point of getting all hot and sweaty? I do enough of that playin’ soccer.”

“It helps keep you fit and being fit tends to mean you stay well longer.”

“When I’m as old as you, you mean?”

“Certainly that, but also when you’re even older.”

“I’m ten years old, Mummy, I’m not going to worry about when I’m twenty and really old.”

“You need to keep fit, girl.”

“Tell that to Livvie, she does even less than me, so does Mima.”

“They aren’t taking oestrogens having lost their gonads. People like us who have been reassigned can become rather overweight, exercise helps to prevent that.”

“So, I’ll eat less.”

“Okay, I’ll tell the others no more treats like chocolate or ice cream for you.”

“See if I care...”

“You might not, but I do. I also enjoy having you ride with me.”

“That’s why you rode off with Danni?”

“No, I knew Danielle wanted to challenge me.”

“So you could beat her?”

“I wasn’t sure I could.”

“Like I believe that.”

“What you believe is entirely up to you, Trish, all I can say is I enjoy having you ride with me and I know you’d get fitter and faster with practice.”

“You don’t need me, you’ve got a new daughter to play with now.”

“That’s a very hurtful thing to say, Trish.”

“Well it’s true, you don't need me anymore.”

“I remember the day you first came here, that dopy girl from the home brought you over, d’you remember?”

“’Course I do, I was in a wheelchair.”

“I can still see your face when I said you could live as girl if that was what you wanted to do.”

“Yeah so? I was a girl.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t. In fact, I’ve never met Patrick, so to me you’ve always been a girl.”

“So’ve you with me, Mummy.”

“Yeah but the girl in me enjoys a challenge, I thought you did too, obviously I was mistaken.”

“Why can’t I just ride a bike like I do an’ not have to be racin’ people just cos you do?”

I had no real answer to this. “You’d get left behind, is that what you want?”

“Not if you didn’t go so fast, I wouldn’t.”

“Do you like riding with me?”

“Did in the days when you went a bit slower and I could keep up.”

“Okay, sweetheart, I ride at speed because I need to; you don’t and I respect that. I’m not quite sure what will happen in the future...”

“You still got Danni and Hannah to race with.”

“Yes, yes I have, although it was you I wanted to ride with the most.”

“I’ll come if you don’t go so fast.”

“Okay, sweetheart—you best go and shower and put your stuff in the washing machine afterwards.”

“I always do.”

“Because I remind you.” I left her to shower and went to take one myself. I had some thinking to do. Was I bullying her, trying to get her to ride faster than she wanted? It could certainly be seen that way. I just know if she tried harder she’d be a lot better, like she was with the soccer. There, once she realised she was quite good, she enjoyed playing much more, which made her try harder and so on. In her age group, she was the top goal scorer. If I remember correctly, she actually was second in the school with just Danni ahead of her—and let’s face it, Danni on a soccer pitch is something else. If ever she really works out how good she is, we’ll never get her head through the door.

I relaxed and tried not to think of anything but the feel of the warm water on my body, it was magical. Then stepping out into the cooler air and wrapping myself in a thick bath sheet and drying myself. I could hear and feel the wind strengthening, it was supposed to be wet tomorrow with quite high winds. Of course it would be, the children are on summer holidays, it always rains then—bloody weather.

Seriously, the weather is changing, or the climate is which has a knock on effect upon the weather. After drying myself and dressing then doing my hair, I grabbed a cuppa and a quick look at the net. According to the Guardian, some coal mining company wants to develop another opencast site near Caerphilly in South Wales. Apparently, they have one nearby which is the largest man-made hole in Britain. It sounded as if the developers were getting nasty and threatening to bankrupt the local council if they can’t get their own way and develop the new site.

I thought it was acknowledged that burning fossil fuels is increasing the rate of climate change; so these coal mining companies must either be in denial or just greedy, putting profit before the common good. Some of us just never change do we from the greedy, grasping selfish types who seem to represent some sort of primitive urge in us. Most of us want to do well and have comfortable lives but surely not at other people’s expense. I suppose, the changes won’t happen necessarily in their life times, but it will in the lives of their children or grandchildren and quite what will happen we don’t quite know.

Storms will become more frequent, which will make life more difficult, especially for those in vulnerable places. Lots of Asia is below sea level and likely to become inundated. Flooding in places like Boscastle could recur. If the ice caps melt, we could end up with changes to the Gulf Stream and thus experience much colder winters in the UK—it’s possible we could have one this year because the El Nino effect has been seen in the Pacific ocean and it led to a nasty winter here last time it occurred.

Still those who profit from the coal mining won’t worry, they’ll be in their summer homes somewhere that isn’t affected, enjoying the sunshine while we cope with wind and rain—lovely.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2708 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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“Do you have shares in dirty energy?” I asked Simon as we relaxed over a glass of wine.

“What d’you by dirty energy?”

“Coal or oil.”

“Not sure about coal but yes we have shares in BP, cost us quite a bit when that explosion occurred in the gulf.”

“Did it?”

“Yeah, shares lost millions overnight and pension funds were big losers, so we lost out too.”

“That was an environmental disaster that could happen anywhere caused by negligence and stupidity.”

“What about fracking, then?”

“A different disaster in waiting.”

“They say it’s safe.”

“They said that about shale mining in Canada, it’s destroyed the landscape there and polluted it for miles around.”

“But that’s different to fracking.”

“Yes, in that they inject water and chemicals under pressure into shale rocks to force out the gas and any oil.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Our water comes from the ground, our rivers mostly emerge from subterranean sources. If oil or dirty water runs into either aquifers or rivers we may never get them clean. Shattering the rock may cause faulting or landslips or even collapse, like a sink hole or old mine workings just collapsing.”

“You think so?”

“I do, because it’s happened elsewhere.”

“But if we have natural resources, shouldn’t we exploit them rather than import things. Let’s face it, if we get involved in another major war, we may need to frack to keep industry running.”

“Who should we get involved in another major war, we haven’t got the resources to fight in a minor one since this government has been in power.”

“We’ll soon have one of the most up-to-date carriers in the world.”

“With no planes on it for ten years and they’re obsolete American things. If we ever go up against Russia, we’ll find out how obsolete they are.”

“I try not to think about the R word, too many bad memories.”

“Just think about it as a potential enemy, not of the cold war type, but a regular full on hot blooded one. They reckon Russian technology has come on in leaps and bounds, unlike their human rights record.”

“They stole much of it from us and the Yanks, and we stole it off each other. Remember how the US government got the jet engine, they stole it from the Miles aircraft company after reneging on a joint project, just after the war.”

“Didn’t the Germans invent the jet engine?”

“They invented one but Whittle invented another type which we developed into the Gloster Meteor. One of them blows and the other sucks, can’t remember which was which.”

“One of them sucks? Honestly, Cathy.”

“Yes the way it works—it’s a long time since I did all this stuff.”

“Amazing what they teach young women these days.”

I was about to correct him when I decided it wasn’t worth it. If he thinks I went to a girl’s school, that’s fine except it would be wrong. However, I’m tired of living in fear of the past, so I try to ignore it as much as possible and if people want to think I was a girl as a child let them. Years ago everyone wore dresses until they went to school and the word girl was synonymous with child, it didn’t distinguish the child as female. There was no word for a female child until Victorian times. Since then the dichotomy has become exaggerated beyond all sense.

“I see George Cole died today,” said Simon.

“Who’s he?” I asked.

“The wheeler dealer boss in ‘Minder’.”

“What’s that?”

“It was a television series years ago.”

“Was it?”

“Yeah, Dennis Waterman was in it.”

“Who’s he?”

“You must know Dennis Waterman.”

“I don’t, I’ve never watched much television.”

“Gee whizz, never let me pick you for a pub quiz team or we’d be suffed”

“I’d be good on dormice.”

“Save it for mastermind then.”

“I will,” I huffed.

“Don’t be like that,” he grumbled.

“It’s seventy years since the bombing of Hiroshima.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t appreciate that the bomb was exploded in the air above the city.”

“Neither did I,” he said.

“It killed a hundred and eighty thousand people.”

“Yeah, but it got the Japanese to surrender.”

“I’d heard they were looking to surrender anyway and that the bomb was to show the Russians that the Americans had the bomb and were prepared to use it.”

“Does it matter anymore? It might be a dreadful thing but it’s kept the peace for seventy years.”

“Has it? So Korea was just propaganda was it, what about our adventures in Africa, in Kenya, Uganda, South Africa and Rhodesia? Vietnam didn’t happen either, did it or the troubles in the Middle East. There hasn’t been any peace on this planet since World War two, nuclear weapons have at most persuaded super powers not to use them unless they want mutually assured destruction.”

“That’s the way of the world, babes; as long as there are two men on this planet, one will always be prepared to take what he wants from the other by force.”

“But it’s so stupid.”

“Yeah, I know that but it seems some people don’t.”

I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t getting at Simon, he wasn’t a problem, he was in touch with reality or I’d smack him round the head with it. I told him about my conversation with Trish and cycling.

“Were you bullying her?”

“I don’t think so, though I do dmit I was trying to get her to do something she didn’t seem all that keen on.”

“She could be coming up to puberty, don’t they do all sorts of strange things then?”

That hadn’t occurred to me possibly because at ten, I thought she was too young and besides any puberty she had would be triggered by drugs not happen naturally, would she really undergo a proper puberty? I wasn’t sure. My case was so different so I have nothing to compare it with, all I can do is wait and see what happens. In the end I shrugged and gave a non-committal answer.

“So what are you going to do with her?”

“Try and encourage her to come with us without pressuring her to do so. She’s quite competitive and her lack of it against Hannah surprised me.”

“Yeah, I suppose it does, but you can’t compete in everything, can you?”

“I don’t know, it didn’t stop her before and she met her match in Danielle with her football, but that doesn’t seem to faze her one bit, so why would a natural girl beating her one element of her life?” It didn’t make much sense to me, but then I’m looking at it with adult eyes, she’s still a kid so her perspective will be different.

“Just keep her riding with you, she’ll get fitter anyway and she might decide she likes it again.”

“That’s what I thought to do and see what happens.”

“Sounds like a plan. We going to bed or what?”

“Did you see that article in the Guardian about the majority of Brits are unsatisfied with their sex lives?”

“Really?” he said adding, “seems like we’re in the trend then...”

“Apparently, more than half claimed they hadn’t had sex for over a month,” I said enjoying teasing him.

“Yep, we’re definitely in the majority.”

“Rubbish, it’s only twenty seven days.”

“Yeah, near enough isn’t it?”

“So if I borrowed ten million and only paid back nine, as it’s close enough, it wouldn’t really matter?”

“Money’s different.”

“So it would seem.”

“So we going to join the minority tonight?” he asked with a sparkle in his eye.

“What those who are completely celibate?”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2709 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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Oh no, the football season starts again today, I realised as Jim Naughtie was saying something on the radio while I tried desperately to go back to sleep. It never works though, does it? You never do go back, you always become more awake and feel increasingly tired.

How could it be the start of the fitba season? It feels as if summer has just arrived, yet if it’s soccer, it must be August. Geez, autumn is just around the corner. As I lay there someone was explaining how it was going to be warm in the south, especially the south east. I had vague recollections that England were about to regain the Ashes—so I must have been dreaming—yeah, by an innings and so many runs according to some ex cricketer they were interviewing or had interviewed. England always lose the Ashes. I mean, they couldn’t even beat New Zealand, a country with a population of a few hundred and most of them played rugby—but what did I know?

I just wondered how much Simon would win or lose from his Aussie friend, because they would bet, despite my saying how stupid it was. Perhaps that made him do it all the more—my disapproval, that is. He could lose thousands, which is possibly a hundredth of his bonus. I sat up with a start, “It’s Saturday,” I said.

“Yeah, they said so an hour ago,” my husband was not impressed with my epiphany.

“I don’t have to get up.”

“So?”

“Would you like a cuppa?”

“What, in bed?”

“Yes.”

“You feeling alright?”

“Yes, I feel good.”

“So glad,” he yawned and turning over away from me said, “Where’s this cuppa then?”

I leapt out of bed full of the joys of summer, caught my foot in the duvet and corkscrewed down heavily onto the floor. “Si,” I said and repeated it more loudly.

“What?”

“Help.”

“Help what?”

“Help me.”

I heard him turn over, “Where are you?”

“I’m on the floor, I’ve hurt my leg.”

“Bugger,” I heard him mutter and the bed creaked as he got out and walked round to me. “Where’s it hurt?”

“My leg,” I said, tears forming in my eyes.

“This one?” he poked and I gasped. Thereafter he was more gentle when he untangled me and lifted me on to the bed. “I’ll get Stella.”

“Um, Si...”

“What?” he asked impatiently.

“I think you’d better put some pants on.”

“Oops, yeah okay.” His dangly bits were waving in the breeze and while Stella was something of an expert on such things, it isn’t done to flaunt them in front of ones sister. A minute or so later a yawning Stella entered the room and began prodding me.

“That hurt?” she asked and I shook my head. “I thought Si said you’d hurt your leg?”

“I did, the other one.”

“How long have you had two of them?” she asked and poked the second leg and I nearly jumped off the bed. “Yeah, it’s definitely that one.”

“I knew that already.”

“So what d’you call me for?”

“It was either you or ghost busters.”

“What?”

“Who ya gonna call...?”

“You are definitely over influenced by transatlantic culture.”

“That isn’t what hurt my leg.”

“What was it then? No—don’t tell me, gravity.”

“It wasn’t the fall that hurt but hitting the floor.”

“Why did you hit it? What’s it done to you, Watts?”

“Short term memory loss,” I said to Simon who stood bemused beside his sister. I made a signal with my finger to show I thought Stella was as mad as a box of frogs.

He shook his head and muttered something about tea went off to get it. “Oh that’s a good idea,” agreed Stella and went off after him. I went to get up and a sharp pain went through my hip and down my leg. I lay back down on the bed and tried to get comfortable, it wasn’t easy and each time I thought I’d achieved comfort a pain would shoot through my leg and travel down it at lightning speed and exit via my foot.

“Bugger,” I cursed my ill fortune. It seemed to me if it wasn’t for bad luck, I’d have none at all. Simon re-entered the bedroom preceded by Trish.

“There she is, sort her out—here’s your tea,” he said dumping the mug on the bedside table. “I’m going to watch the cricket.”

“It’s not on for three hours,” I called after him.

“I’m going down the rugby club, there’s some rugger on, too.”

“Le Ventoux?” I called.

“No, rugby,” he returned grabbed some clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. “Haven’t you fixed it, yet?” he shouted to Trish.

“No, you haven’t paid the call out fee yet,” she shouted back and I laughed and jerked my leg.

Trish was getting better as this healing lark, so there was a chance I might survive which meant she’d have to wait a bit longer to get my red handbag, which she had coveted since she was five years old. In about twenty minutes she eased the pain grabbed my leg and yanked it and after a flash of agony which felt like she’d stabbed my hip the pain stopped altogether. “There ya go,” she said and flounced off as Simon emerged from the bathroom in shirtsleeves.

I stood half expecting my leg to give way but it didn’t, nor did it hurt. Trish was definitely better at this healing lark. I’d obviously pinched a nerve and she’d freed it, for which I was grateful. I drank my rapidly cooling tea and passed Simon as I went to shower.

I had shopping I wanted to do and because it was going to be a lovely day, I thought we could just relax in the garden after lunch. In fact we could have lunch out on the patio—that would be a novelty. After dressing I deferred breakfasts to Jacquie and disappeared before they realised I was missing. Apart from some traffic on the way to town, once I got there and parked, it was pretty quiet and I managed to dash round the shops I wanted to visit in under two hours, by which time the sun was getting hot and the streets were filling.

My final shop was M&S and there I found the object I sought as well as a bag full of food—they do the best tuna pate on the market, it’s gorgeous on toast or crumpets. Then it was a case of fighting the traffic on the way home and as I entered the driveway, it appeared England had won the Ashes by an innings and so many runs. Oh well, I expect they’ll lose them next time as it will be in Australia.

I handed out assorted presents to various daughters, mainly tights or knickers until I got to Trish. I handed her the M&S bag and her face was a picture when she opened it—she beamed in positive delight.

“Wotcha got?” asked Hannah who was pleased with her tights.

“This,” said Trish waving the red handbag, “Thank you so much, Mummy.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2710 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’d made several girls happy and one, especially so. What is it about red shoes and bags? It’s not just me, there was that film with Moira Shearer—I saw it as a kid and loved it, then Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz wears red shoes. I’m sure there are more. I know I was envious of a pair my mother used to wear when I was a girl and as soon as I could I bought myself a pair, plus of course Stella gave me a pair of red boots. As for red bags, if you have red shoes then a matching bag is essential—but only if you’re going somewhere special. I use a black leather bag most of the time whatever my footwear and most of the women I see have differing coloured bags and shoes, but at least I’m trying to teach my daughters the basics, what they do after that is up to them.

It was a lovely afternoon and we got a line of washing dried and ate out on the patio without being eaten alive ourselves. During the early afternoon the antics of the birds showed us that the ants were swarming. Trish spotted a nest and we went to watch, as they arose through the grass the ground appeared to be moving, alive with these glossy black insects who would make their virgin flights, consecrate their nuptials and probably get eaten by hungry birds all in the same day. Those that survive and have mated will chew off their wings—they’re no use underground—and form their own colonies, becoming queens in their own right. They will have saved enough sperm from their mates to lay hundreds of eggs, most of which will be worker ants who will then dedicate themselves selflessly to the colony. To humans, it seems rather a robotic thing to do, to give up a life to serve a mistress, but it has to be remembered that in most social insects, such as the bees, wasps and ants, the colony are all composed of the same genes so it’s about preserving those for the next generation. Arguably, the higher animals including humans, invest much in their children and obviously their genes that we have evolved complex and sophisticated mechanisms for pair bonding and child-parent bonding. We like to think that we developed love through our abilities to rise above the animals—no that was our cognitive abilities, which may also be involved in protecting and nurturing our families—the emotional stuff, which makes us human—a medium sized, hairless ape—is designed to protect our genetic material by protecting the package it comes in—our children. Remember, human offspring aren’t really independent until they’re about thirty five—if you’ve managed to get rid of them by then. Actually, they’re independent in their late teens but not fully grown and their prime starts around their early twenties.

Emotional elements of us are much more ancient than our cognitive intellects. I suspect our ancestral species of hominids had much the same sort of affections for their children as we do for our own, but obviously as life has become more complex, especially in our social interactions, our emotions find it hard to cope which seeing as they’re probably the same as our caveman ancestors. Even our intellects often can’t cope with modern life—I know when my computer has a funny turn, I can’t cope with it and have to get Sammi to sort it.

I roused myself and after watching the ants flying to their destinies and the stomachs of many different species of bird, went to do some more work on the survey. Daddy was doing hardly anything on it these days, so I was effectively the director of it. It took nearly as much of my time as the department did. I decided that when Delia went off to become a student, I’d keep her on as a secretary or clerical support for the survey, which would mean she earned some money without it being too onerous and without her having access to confidential material about herself or fellow students. We’d advertised for a replacement and Pippa and she had drawn up a shortlist to be interviewed. I hate doing interviews but seeing as the new recruit would be my personal secretary, I had to be involved. Sometimes the thought of how simple life was when I used to count dormice for a living felt very attractive. Nowadays I seem to spend almost as much time counting my children to make sure none are missing.

For the older ones, viz., Jacquie, Julie, Phoebe and Sammi, we agreed—that’s them agreeing to me making rules for them to follow—that if they were not going to appear for a meal they let the cook know. That usually means telling David or me, if he has time off. The adults, and I use the term advisedly, are also supposed to say if they’ll be absent for meals. Usually, it’s Si who misses out on David’s cooking as he does have to spend time away through his work; though it isn’t unknown for me to occasionally miss as well and so does Stella. She does have a life away from the house now, she’s back in work at the hospital and takes her girls to the crèche. Pudding will be starting nursery in September, guess where? If we pay much more in fees, we should be able to claim majority shareholder rights.

Simon eventually rolled in for dinner, smelling of beer. He’d taken a cab to the rugby club and got a lift home. He was cock a hoop with the Ashes result and told me he’d won two grand from his Aussie friend, plus another because they won the series without it going to the final match—England lead by three to one, with one last match to be played. How he can risk such large sums of money without blinking annoys me, especially when he complains because I just spent seventy pounds on a pair of shoes for one of the girls—school shoes at that. But that is Simon. If I asked him for the money, he’d just hand me his card and tell me to take what I wanted, but now and again he grumbles, possibly so I don’t take him or his money for granted. I don’t plus I have the fallback position of having a reasonable amount of my own and do in fact spend much of it on the children, but I let him pay for their school uniforms—a ritual we go through in August every year, and will have added Hannah to the list for this one.

I know there were grants available for her as she’s not one of my children, but she is one of the family now, so we’ll treat her the same as the others as long as she stays with us and buy her clothing for her. I do get a monthly amount for her as her foster parent, but I have that paid into an account for her to access if she goes to university—so that could be when she’s eighteen or nineteen, or if she goes to work instead, she gets it when she’s twenty five. She has no idea the account exists. Simon manages them for all the children and he kick started all of them with a couple of thousand. He told me that as Hannah seemed to be staying, he’d done the same for her. I thanked him and told him he was wonderful and agreed to prove it to him when we went to bed if he’s sobered up by then and doesn’t fall asleep on the sofa.

The joys of being a working married woman and parent.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2711 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 needn’t have worried, Simon fell asleep on the sofa and despite trying to rouse him, he remained in a somnolent state. In the end I had to tuck a blanket round him and leave him. Doubtless he’d come up to bed when he woke. I checked on everyone, well the younger ones. Julie went to the bathroom as I was walking along the landing. “Hi, Mummy,” she yawned and I smiled back before slipping into my bedroom.

“While I undressed I recalled how Julie had arrived here and the dreadful clothes she’d worn. I suppose because of my repressed childhood and adolescence, I’d never played the tart or even the femme fatale as a teenager. Was that why I objected to her dress that day? Or was it just my middle class background coming out? I’d never know because we can, none of us, revisit the past. Given some of my experiences, that might not be a bad thing.

Astonishingly, despite some early ups and downs and her father trying to kill her, she’s turned out to be a credit to everyone, but especially to herself. She and Phoebe run their own business and I admit we have helped them along the way, but not that much because we know Julie prefers to make her own way in the world and is quite independent. Phoebe prefers to be guided by advice from those with more experience as well as listening to her own thoughts. Perhaps because they’re so different, their business works quite well as they complement each other. They consider each other as sisters and I know they will always look after each other.

It’s funny that when Stella and I decided we’d become sisters whatever happened with Simon—this was long before we were married—my children have seemingly bonded as siblings despite age differences and the order in which they appeared on the scene and got absorbed by my family. We must be one of the most adaptable family units in the country.

It also seems strange that when Julie came to live with us, Danny, who was very much in boy mode back then, was like a puppy following her around and Billy wasn’t much better. Danny had one or two girlfriends, including Pia’s younger sister, Carly but since joining my side of the fence, she, Danielle, that is, seems to have been mostly attracted to boys. Why that should be, I have no idea, unless our sexual orientation is affected by hormones—in which case shouldn’t all MtoF individuals be attracted to men? We know they’re not, so obviously it isn’t that simple.

Getting into bed, my eyes alighted on my own red handbag and I thought of Trish and the way her whole face lit up when she saw what her present was. What girl could fail to love having red shoes and a bag to match? Very few, I’m sure.

Hannah is our latest recruit and I’m quite surprised her mother hasn’t tried methods of repossession or interference, but so far she hasn’t. That doesn’t mean she won’t or that she will. We’ll just have to wait and see. Part of me expected her to try and blackmail me into paying her something, let’s face it there’s loads of scope available, but I agreed with the belief that you don’t pay anyone who tries to blackmail you, because once you start, you’ll always be in their clutches.

Back to Danielle, she seems to be a much more confident girl than ever he was as a boy and this from someone who was determined to prove he was all boy when he discovered who Trish was the first weekend he was with us. Thankfully that aspect didn’t last long, or we might have had more casualties than we have seemingly got away with.

I suppose we’ve been lucky with all but one of the children or young adults who have found their way to our door. The unlucky one was Billie who having decided she wanted to be a girl as well as the others did, she had an aneurysm burst in her brain while she was out cycling with me. I shall never forget that day or the child I lost.

I felt myself sniffing and tried to change what I was thinking about. I wondered about all the times I thought I saw Billie since she died, that was all it could have been, wishful thinking because once you’re dead, that’s it, lights out. It possibly gave me some comfort while it lasted and Trish humours me sometimes by saying she’s seen Billie who says she’s okay. How can you be okay if you’re dead. Isn’t being dead the exact opposite of being okay?

I lay down and switched off the light and closed my eyes. They felt sore, though I hadn’t actually cried, just had the odd tear form and have it run down my nose, hence the sniffing earlier.

I slipped into an uneasy sleep where I visited several of my earlier unhappy times, where schoolboys beat me up when I was unable to run away, and my child died as I stood there unable to save her. I awoke at two o’clock and was alone. Simon had obviously fallen off to sleep and was there for the night. I was half tempted to go and get him in case I had any further nasty dreams. I went for a wee and decided that as they were only dreams, I was quite safe and tried to sleep again.

I was just about to let go and drift back to sleep when I heard a noise. It could have been the cat or one of the children. I listened and there it was again. I got out of bed and went out onto the landing. It happened again and it was coming from the girl’s bedroom. I walked quietly there and by the light from one of these safety lights saw it was Hannah who seemed to be having a nasty dream.

I sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her face and told her quietly that I was there and that she was perfectly safe and should sleep more securely now. I also told her she’d been dreaming and that’s all it was, a dream. She sighed and seemed to relax and sleep more easily. I sat with her for a few moments then went back to my own bed.

When I got back to my bed Simon was now fast asleep in it. I glanced at the clock, it was half past two. I was astonished I didn’t hear him come up the stairs, but I was glad he had come up to bed. I snuggled into him and in no time was asleep.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2712 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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226 doz for our dodecaphiles.

Despite my broken sleep, I actually felt reasonably rested when I woke and listened to the radio as I worked out what day it was and where and who I was. Sadly the radio didn’t tell me preferring to go on about some unelectable bloke who looked likely to win the Labour Party leadership or the migrants at Calais and what our namesake was or wasn’t doing about them.

I remembered who I was just in time for a herd of migrants to descend upon the bed giggling. Pretending I was dead wasn’t an option as I’d already squealed when one of them placed two cold feet in the small of my back. The others began tickling me and I remembered I needed a wee, probably the reason I woke before the radio alarm went off. I therefore bailed out of bed and ran to the bathroom. While there I decided to shower and upon returning to my bedroom saw I had four migrants lying in my bed and pretending to be asleep. I ignored them and continued dressing and discovered they can apparently giggle when supposedly asleep. Of course, I continued to ignore them.

I was amazed that Simon had got himself up and off to work without me waking, but then I hadn’t heard him come to bed either. I must have been more tired than I thought.

The week continued with mainly wet weather and predictions of storms on Thursday and Friday. Tuesday was curious, we had some sunshine then it clouded over and rained—the rain being continuous but very light, it was also quite warm with prospects of being warmer still on Wednesday.

Wednesday the sun actually shone and once the giggling aliens had come down for breakfast, I asked them what they’d like to do. Danielle said she wanted to go and see Cindy to which I agreed. Hannah wanted to cycle but the others voted it down but didn’t know what they wanted to do. I suggested we went to the beach. I didn’t really want to go but it looked like the only day we’d have a chance. Finally they agreed it was what we’d do. Hayling Island looked the best option and I decided that was where we’d visit.

The next two hours were spent making picnics and finding swimming costumes. Stella decided she would come as well, so we’d need to take two cars. She agreed to take Lizzie and Cate with her two in the Mondeo, while I had the older girls with me, Hannah in the front and Trish, Meems and Livvie in the back. My boot was full of food, drinks and various beach toys, towels, sun cream and a book. I also included a parasol but wasn’t sure if we’d be able to carry it as well as the rest.

Parking on such a day would normally be a nightmare but a quick phone call to the latest of High Street’s acquisitions and we were invited to park in the hotel car park which is just across the road from the beach. Occasionally being a Cameron has its advantages and as we had about ninety three children to supervise, worrying about car parks was not something I had time or energy to waste upon. It’s not that far to Hayling but with everyone in southern England intent on doing the same thing it took far longer than it should and it was noon by the time we’d parked and carried our expedition equipment to a spot on the beach.

Everyone but the littlies had to carry something and I pushed Lizzie in her push chair which had the cool box strapped to the back of it. I also had a rucksack with towels, first aid and sun cream, the girls all carried a change of clothing and something else, Trish being charged with the parasol and Hannah the groundsheet. Livvie had two folding chairs, Meems some balls and buckets and spades, while Cate carried some nappies and a change of clothing for Lizzie.

The next bit was like setting up base camp on Everest, the ground sheet went down with a bag on each corner to keep it flat. The parasol was erected with no one trapping any fingers in it and the chairs for Stella and I were placed in the shade of the parasol. From there it was just a question of putting stuff where we could while enabling those who wanted a chance to sit on the sheet rather than the sand.

We agreed parameters with the older children about where they’d be at all times—between someone with a red parasol to our right and a green wind-shade that a family had to our left. Our yellow and green parasol would show where we were and Stella or I would be there at all times—as much as anything to watch our property.

The girls decided they would have a play in the sea before we had lunch which looked like a good idea. Trish began pulling stuff out of the back pack she’d brought with her and by the time she’d finished and donned it, she looked like a miniature Jacques Cousteau, with snorkel and mask, nose clip and flippers. I told her to be careful and asked Livvie and Hannah to watch out for her in case she decided to snorkel her way to France. Watching her flip, flap and flop her way down the beach in the flippers was funny and I did suggest she’d be better putting them on when she was at the water’s edge, but no, she wanted to pretend she was a frogman all the way there. The rest thought she was crazy but I suspect she enjoyed all the attention it got her.

I knew she could snorkel as she’d learnt while we were in Menorca, but most of her practice was in the pool at the villa, not a crowded beach on the South coast. Judging by the number of reddening bodies, lots of people were still not taking notice of the guidelines on sun bathing and would be sore tonight if not suffering from skin cancers in twenty years time.

Ours had been smothered in factor thirty and I was rubbing factor fifty on my arms, legs and face. I had a costume on under my shorts and tee shirt but wasn’t sure if I’d be anywhere near the water except to take Lizzie and Cate for a paddle.

Once she’d recovered from watching Trish flap down the beach, I left Stella in control of the base camp and walked Lizzie and Cate down to the water’s edge. We walked up and down with the waves lapping at our feet and legs while the older girls ran in and out of the water squealing and splashing each other, except Trish who walked out to waist deep and began swimming. I doubted she would see anything as the waves were stirring up too much sand but she seemed happy.

One minute she was in view as I walked along the edge of the waves with the two little ones and the next moment she was gone. I could see no sign of the snorkel or Trish. I began to feel that horrible sick emptiness that accompanies a shock and called Hannah who was nearest to come and take the youngsters back to Stella. Then while still looking for her, I organised the others to keep watch for her while I walked briskly along the beach trying to spot her.

All the while I was beating myself up with recriminations, why didn’t I stop her or accompany her into the sea? I didn’t know but my heart was racing and I was developing an anxiety gradient that was almost perpendicular to a timescale.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2713 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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All sorts of scenarios ran through my mind as I ran back and fore along the beach. It was minutes since I’d seen her, no more than three or four—but long enough for a child to drown. I continued my frantic running up and down. Not seeing her, I stopped and tried to centre in on her not caring if anyone else saw the light or not. One of my children were at risk, nothing else mattered but her safe return.

I got no sense of her having died or even being in difficulty, so where the hell was she? I looked again, there was no sign of her. I felt tears begin to flow and my vision became blurred. Somehow I’d let her down, as a mother I was a total failure.

“Why are you crying, Mummy?”

“I can’t find Trish.”

“I’m here, Mummy.”

“Yes, dear, but where’s Trish?”

“I am Trish, Mummy, are you blind?”

I looked down and sure enough a dripping wet, life size effigy of my daughter stood alongside me. “What are you doing here?” I exclaimed

“You were looking for me, Mummy.”

“Yes, I know, so what are you doing here?”

“You were looking for me.”

“What happened?” asked Livvie joining us.

“My flippers came off and I couldn’t find them, it was too murky.”

“Oh,” said Livvie and we both looked at Trish’s bare feet with their pink painted toenails.

Suddenly as if my brain took on board she hadn’t drowned I looked at her again and said, “Well give me a hug then.” She did and made me wet all down the front of my top and shorts. “I thought you’d drowned you silly girl.”

“Duh,” she said, “I told you, I lost my flipping flippers,” was added with a degree of indignation. Livvie was in fits of laughter making out like she was a penguin walking in tiny steps, flapping her hands by her sides.

I called the others and we headed back up to Stella just as Hannah began to run down to see us. “You’re okay then?” she said to Trish.

“Of course I am, do I look like a corpse?”

“Dunno, never seen one.”

“C’mon you two, no squabbling.” They both gave me an old fashioned look and walked on together, Trish explaining about her flipping flippers.

I managed to stop Stella asking what happened and her look suggested she’d want chapter and verse as soon as possible. I decided I would wait until they were out of earshot. We had lunch next and that dragged out for half an hour, after which they half heartedly made sand castles with the little ones—not in that way, they used buckets and spades but they allowed the littlies to help.

Then a bit later Livvie and Trish were kicking a football back and fore when some other girls and a couple of boys came along and asked to play as well. Before long they were playing beach football with upwards of a dozen kids playing. How they managed it in that heat, I don’t know, but I was hot just watching them.

When they eventually finished, they all ran down to the sea and just dived into the waves. I watched as someone pointed at Trish and a young woman walked up to her with a pair of green flippers. I saw Trish and her in deep conversation then Trish nodded and the girl handed her the flippers. Bugger, I hoped she’d lost them—dangerous things. I suspect they will suddenly disappear from the cupboard she keeps them in and never be seen again. Obviously, they must have been taken by the fairies.

I explained what Trish said had happened and Stella rolled her eyes. “I suppose she was thinking more about her precious flippers than her mother having kittens on the beach.”

“Something like that, I expect.”

“Why do we torment ourselves by having children?” she asked and in case it was a rhetorical question I simply shrugged. “I mean, they wreck our bodies coming, they distort your breasts feeding them, they suck your breasts and your bank accounts dry and then talk to you as if your were completely stupid. Why do we bother?”

“Are you asking me as a mother or as a biologist?”

“I wasn’t asking you, was I?”

“Fine, but the biological answer is because we’re programmed to breed, to pass on our genes.”

She seemed about to say something, which after that sentence had left my mouth I saw the flaws in it with regard to myself—I can’t breed and the genes I’m protecting didn’t come from either Simon or me, so biologically it makes little sense preserving someone else’s line. However, the urge to parent is so strong in some of us that we do it for other people’s kids as well or even instead, because we need to. I sadly fall into that category, I’m a compulsive mother—there I’ve said it. ‘Hello, I’m Cathy and I’m a compulsive parent.’

I thought back over my life. I was always telling people what to do, even in primary school, where the nativity play was an example—but apart from organising the others, I also got to play mother to God. The jackpot if ever I saw one.

In high school I remembered another boy telling me to ‘Piss off, you’re not my mother.’ I don’t remember the context but I was probably pointing out the consequences of his preferred course of action. I’d have been a natural as a safety engineer. Instead I went on to nurture growing minds in adolescents, except sometimes it seems they’re actually closing down not opening up. Quite a maternal occupation.

“Cathy, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you? No I thought not.” She accused and I felt about six inches tall. “I don’t know why I bother, I really don’t.” I didn’t know why she bothered either but I can cop out by suggesting it’s all driven by her biology—but she knows that already and after what I just said, it would be stating the bleeding obvious.

We came home mid afternoon by which time the sun was getting very warm and I was worried they’d all have sunburn if not third degree ones. Or the way they were running around, heat stroke. Of course Trish objected because her team was in the lead and it was only when I proffered ice cream when we got home, she agreed to ‘stow it’, so to speak (or not).

I considered the less said about this the better and conspired with Stella and Trish to keep it our little secret. Unfortunately, we returned home and Meems opened her cavernous cake hole telling Tom that Trish ‘nearly dwonwnded twying to wescue her fwippews.’ At this point I thought discretion to be the better part of valour and ran off to my study.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2714 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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Tom poked his head around the edge of my study door. “Whit’s this aboot Trish nearly droonin’?”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, Daddy, she lost her flippers and was trying to recover them and disappeared from view for a few minutes.”

“Whit d’ye mean, disappeared?”

“I was walking along the edge of the waterline with Cate and Lizzie and one moment Trish was in view snorkelling and the next she wasn’t. She’s quite a good little swimmer so I wasn’t worried for a moment but she did give me a bit of a scare. The next minute she standing by the side of me apologising for losing her flippers, which turned up a bit later and she got them back.”

“An’ ye’re no gang tae speak tae her aboot it?”

“I told her she gave us all a scare and I think I might just let the flippers disappear.”

He gave me an old fashioned look and smiled, “Ma Catherine had an air pistol an’ use tae shoot at thae birds in thae gerden. It jest disappeared.”

“Things do, Daddy. When I was a kid, my parents used to tell me the fairies took it when things disappeared.”

“Is that whit happened wi’ yer doll?”

“No, he told me he smashed it up and thrown it away. He hadn’t of course but only because my mother stopped him and it was hidden up in the attic.”

Tom shook his head and frowned. “I canna understand yer faither, cud he no see ye were a lassie?”

“Obviously not. It challenged his map of the universe as you’ll know from your adjustment to enable your Catherine to fulfil herself.”

“Aye, it took a wee bit o’ gettin’ oor heids around it, but if ye love yer child, hoo can ye no try tae understand her?”

“Some people are more adaptable than others. My dad was obviously one who needed more incentives than others.”

“Aye weel it’s no ma business tae judge others. I’ll leave ye tae yer work if that’s thae mammal survey.”

“How d’ya guess?”

He smiled and left me to my labours. I wasn’t alone for long. “Dinner is served, madam,” David informed me.

“What’s wrong with the gong?”

“The end’s fallen off the stick.”

For a moment I had to think what he was talking about. Of course, the stick for bashing said bit of brass has a padded bit on the end. If it’s fallen off and Bramble encountered it, it could be anywhere now. Oh well a task for the girls after dinner.

Dinner was a freshly roasted ham and it was delicious, which of course goes without saying if David cooked it. I’d been raised on boiled ham with gallons of pea and ham soup afterwards—‘not to waste the stock’—but his roast ham was melt in the mouth stuff and not salty at all.

I left the girls searching for our missing gong thingy and retired to my study to finish dealing with emails about the survey. One of these was from Sussex, from Abi.

‘Hi Cathy,
Any chance you could do a talk to our wildlife trust about dormice or harvest mice and turning them into film stars? We’ve had a cancellation for next week, I expect that’s too short notice, the other dates would be end of the year stuff or early next.
Love,
Abi.’

I wrote back to her asking which day next week and did they have a projector available. I expected to have a response the next day or so, instead it was almost instant.

‘It’s Monday, a bit short notice—sorry.’

I had a little think, if Jacquie was around on Monday evening, I could do it and there’d probably be fewer people around mid-August than in the winter. I went and found her and she said she would be here and to go if I wanted. I immediately emailed Abi to ask where and what time.

Brighton in August is not the nicest place to be if you don’t like crowds of aimless grockles clogging up the roads, footpaths and cycle paths. Fortunately, it was in a hall in a village just north of the city and I knew it having cycled out there when I was a student. I checked on an internet map and I thought I could find it without too much trouble, she’d bring a digital projector and I was a life saver—otherwise they’d have to have a member’s evening. I was slightly surprised they did talks in the summer, usually it’s field work or walks in the countryside or along the coast and evening in the pub discussing what you saw or missed.

I emailed Alan and asked for any outtakes we had from Harvest Mouse – the movie. He replied he’d have a look and send them by courier. I wondered if we could do it by the internet, I paid enough for the bloody thing and it was supposed to be super fast—though at times I suspect that meant it was stuck and would not be moved however much pressure was applied. I’d check tomorrow and see if he’d found any.

Basically, I’d do a rehash of previous talks with clips from the film or cutting room floor. I knew we had one or two from the second film because in one instance the mice escaped from the tank we were filming in. The object of the tank was to prevent them escaping, except we failed to spot a stalk of corn which had bent over the top of the tank and the two little buggers legged it. Thankfully, only as far as the next tub of corn which was how we discovered their escape. We returned from lunch and entered the greenhouse only to see them disappear into the second tub of wheat. We quickly enclosed the tub in a plastic sheet and managed then to trap our two houdinis.

The camera, which was a camcorder type, was set on motion sensor and captured the whole escape. I would title that clip if we still had it, ‘The escape from Coleslaw.’ I knew we had other bits of disaster as well including doing some filming as the copper chopper was flying directly overhead, the noise was deafening and the mice just disappeared down the stalks for twenty minutes or so.

In one or two bits of filming we did in the field, or should that be fields? We nearly got run over by a roe deer buck which almost walked into us as we were hiding in the wheat. The mess it made of the wheat as it ran away would not have endeared it to the farmer, who was a nice enough fellow and who had responded to our request for sightings of harvest mice. His reward—a copy of the film and a mention of his farm in the credits—he had a farm shop, so any publicity would be useful.

Simon arrived home late from a meeting at Winchester and he was very tired, so after he had something to eat, we had a glass of wine and went to bed. He was asleep almost as soon as he got into bed and I was slightly irked as I’d wanted to speak to him about my talk. Ho hum.

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.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2716 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 should read it should I?”

“Yeah, it’s good.”

“It was addressed to you, was it?”

She went red enough to almost pass for a pillar box, “I can’t remember,” she lied.

“I can. I ordered that book a week ago from an online bookshop. The jiffy bag it came in, addressed to me is torn open and lying in the hall.”

“Yeah, I saw that, the book was lying next to it, maybe Lizzie found it.”

“I doubt Lizzie or Cate would have the strength to open a padded envelope.”

“Yeah they would, they’ve got strong fingers.” She was still like an irradiated tomato, giving off enough heat to make toast had I had some bread handy.

“I think you’re fibbing. I think you were miffed at me because I picked you up on your English, saw the padded envelope on the hall table with my name on it, and opened it—thinking to steal what was in it, to get back at me.”

“No, Mummy, it was open in the hall.” She got redder and I began to worry if she had any blood apart from that perfusing her skin.

“I think you saw what it was and decided to have look at it, which is why you’re up here not with the others, because they’d be asking you what you were reading.”

“No, Mummy, I didn’t...” tears were now flowing over her cheeks.

“And now you’re fibbing, trying to pass the blame onto your younger sisters.”

“I didn’t, Mummy...” she sobbed.

“I’m going to take my book,” I reached down and she released it to me; “then I’m going to let you reflect upon your actions—that is, opening a package clearly not addressed to you, taking the contents without permission and then telling lies to try and blame your younger sisters. When you’re ready to come and tell me the truth, I’ll be downstairs. You can stay here until you decide.” I walked away and shut the door of the girls’ room.

Back in my study, I placed the book on my ‘new books’ bookshelf, went and made a cuppa and returned to my desk, restarted my computer and tried to settle to do some emails and look at new records for the mammal survey. Some were interesting, water voles at Arne RSPB reserve, on the edge of Poole harbour. How come they hadn’t sent one before, these are semi professionals and keep records of all sorts of things. I might go and see them, it’s ages since I visited there and then I was bird watching and being addressed alternately as ‘mate’ or ‘luv’. I was sixteen and had trained it to Wareham and then camped nearby, with my mountain bike loaded with tent, sleeping bag and changes of clothes, plus enough food and drink for a day.

It’s four or five miles from the station to the reserve as I recall it and I had to cycle into Wareham and phone home to say I was okay. That meant a nine or ten mile ride before I could get birding. Except, I’d be up early and do a walk round the reserve about six in the morning then ride to Wareham and phone home. Usually my mother answered but the second morning it was my dad. As I was about to speak to him someone tapped the phone box and asked if I’d be long, I just said to my dad, “Just a second,” as I dealt with my intruder.

I heard him say, “It’s some girl on the phone, here you deal with it.” I returned to my call and my mother and I chuckled at him not recognising my voice, mind you I rarely talked to him on the phone, which does tend to exaggerate pitch and accent, not that I had much of the latter. After our laugh, Mum said, “So that pleased you then.”

“What d’you mean?” I squeaked.

“You know exactly what I mean, Charlie or is it Charlotte, like the hairdresser calls you?”

I was saved by the pips, “Gotta go, Mum, the money’s running out.”

The door of the phone box was tapped again, “C’mon, luv, I need to call someone.” I picked up the purse I used to keep my money in—one that opened with a sort of top that acted as a tray for coins, with a pocket for notes—shoved it in my small drawstring bag and surrendered the phone booth.

Thinking about this incident again, I thought—they knew what I was and what I wanted to be, why did they play it so dumb? Were they trying to protect me or themselves from embarrassment. I was sixteen and still singing soprano/treble, I had no hair on my face or body, except my groin and that wasn’t much. I was small and relatively dainty which was why I was such a target to the bullies. I was a fifth former and looked and sounded like a second or third year pupil. I was very different and paid for it. Unless I’m misremembering, which is possible, I was fortunate to have enough mental strength to deal with it, many others might not have been so fortunate.

I shuddered for a moment—successful transgender folk are usually quite strong mentally, especially as many seem to have been abused in so many ways, often by those they trusted and who betrayed that trust thereby effectively abusing them twice. When that’s sexual abuse which is all about power, it’s even worse. I felt disappointed by my parents’ response when it became obvious that I should have been female in their eyes as well as my own—they’d let me down. I was determined I wouldn’t do that to my children, no matter what.

I was aware I wasn’t alone as I returned to the present from my reverie. I looked round and Trish was standing just inside the door. “Come in and shut the door,” I instructed her, “unless you want everyone to hear us?” She shook her head and gently closed the door until the lock clicked. “What have you decided?” I half expected some sort of legal challenge she’d read about on her iPad or some spiel on Habeus corpus, it didn’t happen.

“You were right, Mummy, I was a naughty girl.”

“I see. I’m not as dumb as you sometimes think, am I?”

“I never think you’re dumb, Mummy, just a bit slow sometimes.”

“So you were naughty, what shall we do about it?”

Blushing like a stop light she said, “I suppose it’s too late to say I’d like to come with you to Brighton?”

“Hang about, we were discussing opening my mail, stealing the contents and telling lies and you then try to deflect the conversation to my talk in Sussex.”

“I didn’t mean to, Mummy. I am sorry I did all those things, especially as I’m now ten years old and apparently of an age when I’m supposed to differentiate between right and wrong and between honesty and lies. I failed you, Mummy and was prepared to come to Brighton as a punishment.”

“You what?” I gasped. An hour ago she was coming as a treat, now it’s a punishment.

“Well seeing as you didn’t really want me there in the first place, I thought just being there would be like a punishment.”

What do I do with this child, aged ten and running rings round me. Act unimpressed or she’ll really start doing it. “I can certainly make it a punishment.”

“Uh—no, being unwanted is enough, Mummy.”

“Don’t you ever suggest you’re unwanted. Now clear off before put you through the shredder.”

“Eek,” she squealed and high tailed it out the door. I sat there shaking my head, ten years old and she’d out manoeuvred me again. She’ll have to go.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2717 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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The weekend came and went and the weather was fine to lovely. I did take Hannah and Danielle out for a bike ride but Trish wasn’t that interested. I wasn’t going to force her, but I made her do some chores—she started a new batch of bread and cleaned out the old ice cream tub—there was enough for one small portion, so she was hardly being overly rewarded.

We did about seven miles before turning back, “Aren’t we going for the hill again, Auntie Cathy?” asked Hannah.

“You up for it?” I asked Danni who rolled her eyes but nodded. So that’s what we did, detoured to take in a major hill climb and Danni struggled as much as Hannah. Being good at one sport doesn’t mean you can be good at another, especially as different muscle groups are involved. To be properly fit you need to do several different types of exercise so you build up opposing muscle groups to the same level or you get an imbalance.

We arrived home forty five minutes later, all hot and sticky despite the ice creams we had at the top of the hill. I couldn’t wait to shower, so set off upstairs and after stripping off got in the shower, moments later as I was washing my hair I felt another body get in. “Who’s that?”

“It’s me, Trish.”

“Dirty work eating ice cream is it?”

“What ice cream? I made the loaf as you asked but didn’t see no ice cream.”

“My mistake,” I said wondering where I put the note. “The note didn’t say where it was?”

“Note, I didn’t see a note.”

“So you didn’t clean up an ice cream carton?”

“Okay, let’s rinse off and get dressed. I dried and plaited her hair and thought she looked so sweet you could get diabetes just by looking at her. After dressing, well just in case the vicar called by, we went down to the kitchen and when I checked the nearly empty container was absent. It turned up washed and draining in the utility room. I wondered who’d eaten it, not that I was really worried but I was cross that Trish hadn’t got some.

The new tub from the reserve freezer provided her with a couple of scoops and she went off happy. I wonder what happened to the note. It turned up, all scrunched up in the kitchen waste bin. I made myself some tea and went off to ponder who could have taken it.

Meems followed Trish out to the kitchen apparently and then came demanding ice cream with menaces and as we didn’t have that flavour, she had to settle for raspberry ripple or some such variety. It didn’t seem as if she’d had any so who could it have been? It had to be Livvie. I found her in the dining room and asked her outright had she taken the note off the fridge and eaten the ice cream.

“Well, I saw the note and checked if the ice cream was still there, it was so I ate it. I washed out the box it came in. So I think I earned it, Mummy.”

“Except you stole it.”

“I didn’t,” she was quite upset.

“So what you call taking something I’d offered to someone else?”

“She wasn’t going to eat it—truly she wasn’t.”

“Only because you got there first.”

“That’s circiwotsit evidence.”

“Circumstantial evidence?”

“That as well.” These two girls are like small teenagers, perhaps I should get them cut in half and count the rings—well it works in trees.

“Next time I leave a note for your sister please don’t remove it.”

“Aw come on, Mummy, she’da known about the ice cream then, wouldn’t she?” I couldn’t fault her logic even if I wasn’t sure about the ethics. “I was just tryin’ t’ help by doin’ the washin’ up for her.”

“To destroy the fingerprint evidence was it?”

“Um,” she blushed. Ten years old and a master criminal, “well you know Trish.” I did too, a brain thinly disguised as a child.

“Don’t do it again because next time I’ll be really cross.”

“Yes, Mummy, I am sorry.”

“You sound about as contrite as Joe Stalin.”

“Who’s he.”

“He was a psychopathic president of Russia during World War Two.”

Monday dawned, and even though the dawns are growing fractionally later each day, they still come too early. I’d got Julie to tidy my hair on the Sunday evening. She did and it had quite a good shape on it. It was now well below my shoulders again and after using a good shampoo and conditioner, was shining nicely. I got her to tidy up Trish’s hair as well and I put hers in a single plait.

I went into the office in the morning and checked everything, it all seemed as it should be and Delia was sorting my post. I signed a few letters and after looking to see the dormice, went home doing some shopping en route.

I wondered what sort of image I should present at this talk. Daddy would insist, as a representative of the university, I should wear a suit. Simon would want me to wear something formal, too. I ended up in a denim skirt with a dormouse tee shirt with a fleece to take with me in case it was cold coming home.

The tee shirt I had made for me by one of these tee shirt printing places, using a photo I provided of a torpid dormouse. Then I went and changed into jeans but kept the tee shirt on. I slipped on some trainers and I was ready—well dressed. Trish was in footless tights, shorts and a dormouse tee shirt as well. Each of the youngsters had one.

We ate a substantial lunch of tuna jackets and salad and I packed a couple of chocolate bars in my bag as emergency supplies. Next I loaded my computer bag with computer and the DVD I made for the talk, into the car and added my handbag and jacket. Trish came out with her new red bag and some ankle boots. I’d already put her jacket in the car.

“You not wearing any makeup, Mummy?” she asked rolling some lip gloss onto her own mouth.

I’d put moisturiser on earlier. “I can’t honestly be bothered, girl. If they think I’m ugly, too bad. I’m not asking anyone to marry me.”

“You can’t, Daddy would be awfy cross if you did.” She’d picked up another Lallans expression from her granddad.

“It was a figure of speech, that’s all.”

“Well that’s all right then.”

“So glad, in you get, Missy, let’s go and play with the traffic.” I’d given myself a good two hours to get there and although it was heavy, the traffic kept moving and we were there in less than ninety minutes, so we stopped at a certain fast food chain and Trish had an elephant burger by the size of it, while I had a chicken salad roll or something nearly resembling one, with a coffee.

Fifteen minutes later we arrived at the village hall—there was no one else there. I reached for my bag and hoped I had Abi’s phone number.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2718 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 checked my address book on the phone and I did have a number. I clicked on it and it rang three times before she answered. “Cathy, where are you?”

“I’m at the village hall.”

“What village hall?”

“The one you told me to come to.”

“No, that was changed—there’s two hundred people waiting for you at the university.”

“What!”

“I sent you an email yesterday. Didn’t you get it?”

“I think the answer to that is obvious. Okay, what d’you want to do?”

“How soon can you get here?”

“Twenty minutes to half an hour.”

“Okay, I’ll get the kettle on.”

“Good idea.” I closed my phone, “C’mon kiddo, they changed the venue.”

“Without telling you?”

“Been too busy to look at my emails.”

“Ha, a likely story.”

“Look you can just accept a mistake was made and I’ll show you the place I went to university, or...”

“Or what?”

“I can shut you in the boot.”

We arrived at the main lecture theatre at the biology department, where I’d done that talk before. I knew the way around the back and Abi was waiting holding out a cup of tea. “Who’s this?” she asked looking at Trish.

“My computer tech, why?”

She laughed, “Which of your multitude of children is this?”

“I’m Trish, an’ I am her computer tech. She can’t work the video let alone her computer.”

“You’re also her daughter, no one else could come up with a line like that.”

“Give her time and she’ll better it.”

“I believe already. Hi Trish, I’m Abi, I used to teach your mum.”

“Teach her what?” Trish looked amazed.

“Okay, I tried to teach her things as I was a junior lecturer in her final year. I suspect she taught me a thing or two, especially about making microscope slides—did you know she was an expert at it?”

“Yeah, we’ve got drawers of them at home and she’s got loads at the university.”

“I can’t have any secrets with her around can I?”

“You ready now?” Abi asked and I nodded as I put down the empty mug. “Going to help me load her computer?” she said to Trish.

“Yeah, okay.” With that Trish took my computer out of my bag and found the DVD in its case and followed Abi out to the lecture theatre. I could hear a buzz going through the audience and they cheered when Trish appeared and helped Abi set up my computer. I checked my hair—it would have to do. I added some dark pink lipstick and a quick squirt of my handbag bottle of scent and I walked through. Trish was finishing her installation of the computer and projector while a technician stood and watched her, nodding frequently.

As soon as I appeared there was a cheer and although I couldn’t see many faces I smiled nervously at the audience. Abi introduced me and was given a round of applause, the stage was mine. Trish sat down by the computer at the side of me. “In case anything goes wrong, Mummy.” I nodded to her.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my sincere apologies for keeping you waiting, we had a slight misunderstanding about the venue—I went to the wrong one. My fault and I am sorry. Let’s get on with the show. Oh this is Trish my daughter, who also knows more about computers and most things than I do.” I bid her stand and the crowd cheered her. She bowed and sat down again.

“She’s taken all my thunder already. Okay, for those who don’t recognise me, I’m Cathy Watts, and I’m acting professor of biological science at Portsmouth University and coordinator of the UK Mammal Survey. In my spare time, I’m a wife and mother to more kids than the average pheasant hen; I also occasionally make films about wild life which some of you may or may not have seen. I tend to do them about cute furry things like kittens and puppies.” The audience laughed at this and Trish said something.

I held the mic for her speak into. “Don’t be silly, Mummy, you made films about dormice and harvest mice.” The crowd roared with laughter.

“I stand corrected, come to think of it, she’s probably right—yes, she is. Oh well if we have a load of pictures of kittens and puppies, I’ve brought the wrong DVD.” Obviously I hadn’t but establishing a rapport with my audience is important and with things like this I think it more useful to make them laugh than try to educate them. If they enjoyed it, they’ll remember things, if they didn’t they’ll forget it all very quickly.
I showed the Youtube clip of Spike parachuting into my cleavage which brought a laugh, then a couple of bits from the outtakes of the dormouse film. I then talked about the harvest mouse film and how we made it and how at times we ever managed to make it at all.

For about ninety minutes I entertained them and then answered questions from the floor. Abi then called for quiet and up stepped Professor Herbert who gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, then he shook hands with Trish and the audience cheered. He called for quiet and when he got it he began a vote of thanks.

“This is the second time I’ve had to come here and listen to one of her talks—she refuses to call them lectures—it’s the second time I’ve had to do the vote of thanks, as well.

“I first knew this young woman as a grungy undergrad who I knew was capable of great things in biological science, all she had to do was find her forte. She however decided she would do well in everything she touches—talk about a golden touch, she has a diamond touch. She discovered dormice while she was here and went off to study under Tom Agnew at Portsmouth where she did a master’s and doctorate. In less than two years she’s one of the leading experts on dormice in the country and an expert on surveying them, which she used to help devise the scheme for the mammal survey and then talk the government and High St Bank into funding it. Then she went round the country talking various universities into helping her and Tom with the data collection and analysis.

“In between times she married Simon Cameron, yeah, that Simon Cameron and they have more children than Barnardo’s, including this lovely little girl here. She is a very gifted and entertaining teacher whose courses are always oversubscribed—you can see why—she teaches undergraduates with as much skill as she taught you all tonight—and let’s face it, most of you didn’t know you’ve been educated, did you? I remember Tom Agnew saying to me that he wanted to develop her self confidence because her creativity in presenting material to students was inspirational. You can now see what he meant.

“Cathy, I’ve known you a long time and you never fail to astonish me in your ability to bring something new to your subject and way of presenting it. I am in awe of your talent and if I wasn’t so fond of Tom, I’d have poached you for this university, your alma mater, long ago. Perhaps one day you will return here and share your enthusiasm and inspiration with our undergraduates and other students, until then I hope you’ll come back and tell us all about your latest film and your delightful dormice.

“On behalf of the members of the East Sussex Wildlife Trust, and the students of this university, thank you so much for another one of your entertaining and informative talks, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed it.”

It took another three quarters of an hour to escape the university and my apparent fan club. I had to sign copies of both films and the odd book. Trish fell asleep on the drive home, but I was buzzing—it would take me another hour or two to calm down and relax.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2719 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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Looking at Trish asleep with the light coming from oncoming vehicles, I felt such a warmth for her. She looked like a sleeping pixy, without the pointy ears. I loved her so much, even though she was a challenge. I thought about how we first met and how, Sam Rose had talked me into taking her for a few days and I still had her some years later, and was now her adopted mother—all legal and official. She was clutching her red bag to her as she zonked. I smiled as I thought about it.

I thought back to my previous talk at Sussex, where I’d had to cope with the insults of Abi’s partner when we all went to dinner with Esmond Herbert afterwards. Then driving back my car had kept breaking down and I ended up at a services on the motorway and met that crazy vicar who was convinced he’d met an angel. I wonder if he’s still checking out the service areas?

We entered Portsmouth and the change in either the engine noise or increase in streetlights meant Trish began to stir. She yawned and blinked at me, then looked at me as if she was momentarily confused. Recovering, she asked if were home yet. “Not quite, sweetheart, but will be very soon. You go back to sleep and I’ll tell you when we’re there.”

“Okay,” she said, yawned and seemed to zonk again, possibly she hadn’t really woken, just sort of half surfaced and my reassurance sent her off again.

At eleven o’clock the traffic was fairly quiet although it looked as if a fight was starting outside an Irish pub. I drove past as quickly as I could, that was the last sort of lunacy to get involved with. Some ten minutes later I pulled into the drive and shook Trish, she remained fast asleep. Taking my bag I left the sleeping child in the car which I locked. Thankfully, Simon was in and when I asked him he came and lifted her out of the car like she was a feather. He carried her in and asked where to place her, I told him up to her bed. Once there I stripped her and after pulling on to a nightdress tucked her in and left her to sleep.

“How’d it go?” asked Simon.

“Okay, I guess.”

“Okay? You’re one of the best speakers I’ve ever seen in action.”

“It seems they liked it.”

“I’ll bet they did, pity I missed it.”

“C’mon, Si, you’d have been bored to tears.”

“I wouldn’t and you should know that better than anyone.”

I accepted his mild rebuke and apologised.

“So what gimmick did you use to make them laugh?”

“I pretended I had the wrong DVD, told them I was doing a talk on kittens and puppies.”

“What Dr Dormouse doing a talk on kittens? The only one you know is that little psychopath who ran off with Lizzie’s dolly.”

“What Bramble did?”

“Yeah, she snatched it off Lizzie and dragged it away like a leopard carrying a wildebeest.”

“Do leopards eat wildebeest?” I asked because I didn’t actually know and although I’m aware all the big cats are very powerful animals, they’d need to be to drag three hundred pounds of dead herbivore up a tree—leopards often eat up trees. By that I don’t mean they eat trees but that they climb trees and then eat their prey. Somehow I couldn’t see Bramble doing that, dragging a dolly up a tree.

“Do they eat what?”

“You said that leopards ate wildebeest. I’m not sure they do. Lions will take them but I’m not sure leopards do.”

“Bloody women, you always take things too literally. I was using it as an analogy.”

“Fine, but I’d still like to ask if they do—leopards hunt wildebeest, that is?”

“Look on the internet, it’s full of useless information.”

“Yeah okay,” I yawned and pecked him on the cheek before retiring to bed and was asleep before he followed me up. Obviously my buzz had crashed and I was doing the same before real damage occurred.

He would ask questions the next morning but I’d prevaricate while I tried to remember what we’d done and for how long.

I was wrong, he didn’t ask any questions because the next morning when I awoke, he’d gone to work. Sometimes I hate the bank. I struggled out of bed and into the shower where some water did help me to wake myself up a little. Then I checked on Julie and Phoebe, both were either dressing or showering. The girls all seemed to be drowsy this morning, Danielle being a teenager could sleep for England, so I didn’t really expect to see her until later on. I went down to get my own breakfast and had my toast pinched first by Julie and then Phoebe. As I made some more Hannah came into the kitchen and started pouring herself some cereal.

“Anybody else awake?” I asked her as I made myself some banana on toast.

“Not really, Mum—I mean, Auntie Cathy.”

“Go on, let her call you mummy, too,” jibed Julie.

“But Hannah has one already.”

“Who would you rather call your mother, the woman who had you or this one?” Julie addressed our latest recruit.

Hannah blushed, “Um...”

“Don’t tease her, Julie. It’s okay, Han, she’s only joking.”

“I wish you were my mother, at least you’re interested in what I do and want me to do well at school and stuff.”

“See, told ya,” called Julie and she and Phoebe left for work.

“Don’t pay any attention to them,” I said to Hannah.

“She’s right, I really do wish you were my mother.”

“Because I can give you nicer things?”

“Not really, it’s because you actually care about your children, not see them most of the time as a nuisance. I always seemed to be in the way at home, even when we came here, until David babysat for me and she could go out and drink as she wanted. He’s a nice man, David.”

“He’s very fond of you, you know.”

“I know he fancied himself as my father, but I prefer Uncle Simon—he’s more fun, and coming here I have loads of sisters and we get on really well together. I feel this is who my family shoulda been, not that saddo with her boyfriends and booze.”

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” I opened my arms and she came for a hug.

“Mum never hugged me, an’ she was jealous of you and your money. She said you’d be after me, wanting to add me to your collection.”

“I’m sorry, Hannah, if that’s what I’ve done, I apologise.”

“No—I love being here with you and the others, it feels like a family should be and i do wish you were my mother. Will you be my mother, Auntie Cathy?”

How do I answer her that? “I’d love to be, Hannah, but I’m not sure what Ingrid would say to anything in that direction. She might block everything I tried to do, saying I stole you or something.”

“I’d tell them she was lying and that I prefer you as my mother—can I call you mummy, like all the others do?”

What do you say to that?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2720 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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With the exception of Danni who stayed in bed because she was a teenager, the others had stayed there to give Hannah a chance to talk to me, or so it transpired. It would appear I’m not being manipulated by one child but by all of them. Somewhere along the line either I didn’t carefully read the script on parenting or they decided to do an edit without telling me. Am I too soft or prepare to try and reason with a bunch of kids who all seem cleverer than I am?

I got Hannah to sort the washing for me while I roused the others, it was nine o’clock and I wanted to finish the breakfast mess and get the kitchen cleared before David came over. Ah, another complication arose in my mind, what’s he going to say if he hears Hannah calling me mummy? Why does life have to be so complicated—all I did was get up this morning before it jumped all over me.

Trish and Livvie tittered when I went to get them up, “Did she speak to you?” asked Livvie.

“Who?” I asked playing stupid—my natural state these days.

“Hannah,” said Meems loudly.

“Of course, we talked about what she was having for breakfast, which if you lot don’t get up soon it will be too late for.”

“Is she going to call you mummy?” asked Trish

“What business of yours is it what she calls me?” I asked and she blushed.

“Well you are our mummy,” asserted Livvie, I’m sure she’s going to be a barrister, “so if she’s going to become our sister, we’d like to know.”

“I don’t know if I need any more daughters.”

“Well you invited her to stay here, didn’t you?”

Hoist by my own petard yet again, “I did but I gave an undertaking to her mother that it was only a temporary thing.”

“You can’t abandon her now, Mummy, that would be very unkind,” counsel for the defence, Livvie declared.

“I didn’t say I was abandoning her, but I think we have to move much more carefully to keep her here. I want to see her achieve her potential, as I do with all of you, but she still has a mother who could cause problems if she thought I was trying to keep her.”

“Oh,” was the collective response. Then Livvie said, “But does she have to know if Hannah calls you mummy?”

“Ingrid has already accused me of trying to steal her child. That wasn’t my intention, I just felt she’d do better going to your school and being with you as her friends.”

“She wants to be our sister, Mummy, an’ we want her to be as well.”

I thought to Julie and Phoebe supporting her slip of the lip earlier. “Have you spoken to Julie and Pheebs about this?”

“An’ Danni, too,” piped Mima, always honest to a fault.

“And they are happy for this to happen too, are they?”

“Yeah, they all said they almost thought of her as a sister anyway.”

“I need to speak to Daddy about this, and possibly Gramps as well.”

“Gramps is okay, we talked to him about it last night, and we reckon Grampa Henry will be too.”

“Don’t tell me you sent him an email?”

“No, Trish phoned him last night.”

Can you explain to a ten year old genius that she might be acting beyond her remit? She just sees an obstacle and blasts her way straight through it without understanding the possible repercussions.

“What did he say?”

“For you to let him know when you adopted her officially.”

Outmanoeuvred doesn’t begin to describe how I felt except I knew I had to assert some form of authority or I’d lose the initiative completely over this and other things. I was still nominally the parent here, even though at times I felt out of my depth.

“I think we need to set some rules here. I’m the mummy, and either I or Daddy decide these things. I’m happy to hear your opinion at times, especially if I feel you need to share one, but otherwise I make the decisions not you lot. I’m annoyed you spoke to both grandparents before you spoke to me, it feels like you were trying to force me into agreeing with you, when in fact if you had discussed it with me beforehand, I’d might have felt more sympathetic.”

“What does all that mean, Mummy?” asked Trish.

“It means if you try anything like this again, I’m going to say no and there will be other consequences as well. Don’t you dare go behind my back ever again.”

“Oh,” was said collectively before Meems added, “She’s cwoss.”

“Yes, I am cross. Now all of you up and down to breakfast.”

“What about Hannah?” asked Livvie.

“She’s had breakfast.”

“No, the other thing.”

“That’s between Hannah and me. Now up please or you’ll miss breakfast. Trish, tell Danielle to get up and strip her bed.”

I went downstairs and David was in the kitchen, “I put the bread machine on, Mummy,” said Hannah and David’s eyebrows rose about six inches.

“Go and get the others up, will you?”

“Yes, Mummy,” she said and once again David’s brows rose.

“Got another one then?” he said, I thought rather offhandedly.

“I haven’t decided anything yet except to offer her the chance of a stable home life and education.”

“So why’s she calling you mummy?”

“She and the others decided she could. I haven’t given an opinion yet because I haven’t spoken to Simon.”

“Ingrid’s not gonna be very happy if she finds out.”

“Who’s going to tell her, you?”

“No, but somebody should.”

“Why is that?”

“She’s still her mother.”

“Only in fact not spirit.”

“But isn’t she legally so?”

“My concern is the welfare of the child.”

“What if Ingrid said the same?”

“With the exception of allowing her to stay here and be educated at the same school as my girls, I suspect she’s more concerned with her own welfare than her daughter’s.”

“I think you’re pushing your luck, Cathy.”

“I’m not actually doing anything but trying to meet a need, I’ll continue doing that as best I can regardless of anyone else’s opinion.”

“That’s telling me.”

“That’s telling everyone who may be interested, and I don’t see what allowing the child to call me what she wants is anybody’s concern but hers and mine.”

“Fine,” he shrugged but his body language showed it was anything but fine. However he is my cook, not my legal adviser so his opinion is just that; besides, he possibly feels some degree of interest given his relationship with Hannah earlier. I haven’t prevented that neither have I encouraged it.

After breakfast was over and I was concentrating on the washing, I noticed him speaking with her and she walked away without displaying any obvious distress, I would therefore conclude that they hadn’t had any sort of disagreement.

It would grieve me if I lost David, he’s brilliant at his job and I hope a personal friend, but he works for me, not the other way round. If I lost Hannah, I’d be more upset than I would losing my cook, not because I feel proprietorial towards her, but because she’s under my care and I protect those who are, especially the young or vulnerable.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2721 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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“David said it was wrong for me to want to call you mummy.”

“It is none of David’s business what you call me. What else did he say?”

“That my mother would be upset if she heard about it.”

“So what d’you think about that?” I wasn’t sure what I wanted to hear but I felt miffed by David’s intervention, it really is none of his business.

“I told him it wouldn’t be the first time I’d upset her, as she seemed to think I was mostly a nuisance anyway.”

“We can all get in people’s ways at times, to do it regularly means either you have a talent for it or your mother was more concerned with her life than yours.”

“I was always in the way, I think she’s probably glad to be shot of me.”

“I suspect she has reasons for being that way...”

“Yeah, she’s a selfish pig, who never really loved me,” tears were rolling down her cheeks.

“Hey, come on now, we love you,” I put my arm round her and allowed her to hug me.

“I know you do, Mummy, and all my sisters, they love me too. I never want to leave here.”

“I think never might be rather a long time, so shall we deal with just the foreseeable future?”

“What does that mean, Mummy?”

“It means looking into the future, so perhaps we could say, you’re invited to stay until you finish school.”

“Can’t I stay longer, Mummy?”

“I expect after school you might want to go away to university...”

“No, I wanna stay with you an’ my sisters.”

“But they’ll be going to university or some other form of education or training.”

“Why can’t I go to Portsmouth University, like you do?”

“I work there, Hannah, that’s why I go.”

“Can’t I go there too?”

“As you’re only ten, I think other things might happen which may cause you to want to go to other places instead or even as well.”

“No, I wanna be with you, Mummy.”

“You can’t be with me all the time, Han, you have to go to school.”

“I’m safe there.”

“Safe, what d’you mean, safe?”

“She can’t get me there can she, the teachers won’t let her.”

I nearly said she could do it more easily here, given she once worked for me, but I doubted she’d have the nerve to turn up here. However, I could be mistaken. In which case, I’d have to play it by ear.

“What d’you mean by ‘get you’?”

“Take me back with her or try to make you give her money.”

“Children aren’t saleable goods—that’s illegal.”

“Won’t stop her, she tried it once before.”

“She tried to sell you?”

“Yeah some old bloke she knew, he offered to pay lots of money for me. Dad found out and threatened to call the cops, said the old man was a prevert or something, no a pee-dum-fie.”

“A paedophile?”

“Something like that.”

“And she was going to sell you?”

“She said the old man was nice, he got really cross when she said she’d spent his money—she gave half to my dad, cause he hit her until she did.”

“When did this happen?”

“Oh ages ago.”

“You didn’t get his name, the old man, I mean?”

“No, but he smelt like old cheese.”

“A bit smelly was he?”

“Yeah, big and fat and smelly.”

“If I was able to get a picture of him, d’you think you’d recognise him?”

“I dunno, Mummy, I don’t wanna see him again, he frightened me a bit.”

“Okay, sweetheart, let’s go and see what the others are doing.” They were doing some colouring and she happily went to do some with them. Apparently it’s now the in thing for adults, only they give it some highfaluting name like therapeutic pencil work. It’s just colouring, which I enjoyed as a kid but think after doing it for maps of various animals, I’ve had my fill of it. I expect jigsaws will be next to be elevated to adult leisure toys or Fuzzy Felts or maybe doll’s houses.

I left Hannah with the others and went back to make myself a cuppa. David was virtually snubbing me in my own kitchen. Apart from being very bad manners, it isn’t good policy to piss off the boss however good you are at your job. I spoke to him and he ignored me.

I made my tea. “Is this childish behaviour still about Hannah.” He bustled past me. “David, I have neither the time nor the energy for these silly games.”

“Silly are they?”

“Right, stop what you’re doing and let’s have it out in the open—c’mon speak your mind.” I closed the kitchen door and the others knew not to enter.

“I don’t think it’s right that you should let her call you mummy, you’re not her mother, Ingrid is.”

“I’m well aware of that, but I take it you agree I’m better fixed to help her get a good education than Ingrid is?”

“Yeah, you’ve got more money.”

“I have indeed and I intend to use it to make sure that women never comes near her again.”

“Oh so now it’s coming out is it?”

“Yes, the past abuses that child suffered. She lives in fear that Ingrid will try to snatch her back or ask me for money for her.”

“She’s mistaken.”

“I think you’ll find it’s you who are mistaken. Did you know her mother tried to sell her to a paedophile ring and only her father stopped it?”

“Come off it, Cathy, that’s pretty low even for you?”

“I shall be talking to the police and social services about it.”

“To queer her pitch—really, you take the prize for underhandedness, don’t you?”

“Hannah just told me about it, some old man, fat and smelt of old cheese.”

“You just planted that in her head didn’t you?”

“If that’s what you really feel about me, David, I’m extremely disappointed because I thought you knew me better than that.”

“I take it you want me to leave?”

“I’d hate for you to leave, because you’re a damn good cook and because I thought we were friends.”

“I can’t watch you poison that child’s mind.”

“So call social services.”

“She’ll tell them whatever you taught her to say.”

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“It’s true though, isn’t it?”

“I think you’d better go. Obviously your loyalty to a woman who dumped you and robbed both of us is greater than to your friends. You can stay at the cottage for one month or until you find somewhere else. I’m happy to give you a reference. Now please go.”

He took off his apron and tossed it on the table and left without saying anything. I felt devastated. After all I’d done for him he treats me like this. Simon will be gutted as no one will be as good as David, his cooking was something else.

I checked in the fridge, oh well, cottage pie for dinner tonight and soup for lunch. I pulled on the apron and started making lunch.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2722 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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“Where’s David?” asked Stella as she saw me making lunch.

“I just sacked him.”

She began to laugh, “That’s really funny, now where is he?”

“I had an altercation with him, he showed total disloyalty to me and spoke outside his remit, so I told him to go.”

“You’re not joking are you?”

“No I’m not.”

“Bugger.”

“If that’s how you feel, think how I do, I’ve got to cook again.”

“What about Helen and Lorraine?”

“I suspect they could do basics, but we’ve been spoilt with David.”

“Can’t you take him back?”

“Not after what he said.”

“Tell me what happened,” she badgered and while I made the soup I did.

“So according to Hannah, Ingrid tried to sell her to a paedo ring?”

“I don’t think she understood quite what that meant, but yes that’s what she told me, and David had the temerity to suggest I’d planted it in her head so she could tell social services and the police.”

“It does happen.”

“Gee thanks.”

“But it’s not something you’d do—you play fair.”

“Thank you.”

“Yes, dumb but fair.” She snorted and it lost its dramatic moment. “I can’t believe he’d accuse you of that.”

“He’s probably on the phone to Ingrid right now.”

“After all you’ve been through, you’ve supported him countless times.”

“That appears to be forgotten, not that I’d rub his nose in it.”

“No, but I would—watch my two will you,” with that she was out the backdoor before I could do more than gasp. I called Danni and asked her to watch Pud and Fiona until Stella came back.

“Where’s David?”

“He’s not here.”

“Duh, I can see that, Mummy.”

“Go and watch those girls.”

“It’s okay, Trish was doing smear tests on them.”

“What?”

“I’m joking, she’s taking blood—only a couple of pints from each.”

“She’s colouring.”

“Musta been Livvie then.”

“Go and watch Stella’s girls.”

“Oh all right,” she ambled off in a pair of heels that I’m sure she’d pinched from Julie.

“And don’t fall off those heels.”

“I can walk in them, easy peasy—so there,” she said coming back to the kitchen.

“You won’t if Julie sees you wearing them.”

“I asked her first, so there.”

“That would be a first.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” drifted back from the empty doorway.

I added the lentils to the chicken stock I was boiling and then the carrots and onion, plus garlic, a bit of salt and pepper and some diced potato before turning it down to simmer. Turning my attention to chopping up the chicken thighs, pre-cooked ones, I didn’t notice Stella return. I almost dropped the two dishes I had of skin and other inedible bits when I saw her standing before me with David. I placed them down for the dog and cat and waited for one of them to speak—not the dog or cat—doh.

“David has something to say,” said Stella and looked at him.

“I’d like to apologise, Cathy. I was out of order.”

“What would you have me do assuming I accept your apology?”

“That’s up to you, but I’d understand if you want me to go.”

I stirred the meat into the soup for something to do as much as anything else. “I’d like to think about it. I’d also like you to think about it and come back and see me this evening, say seven o’clock.”

“Okay, seven it is—you don’t want me to make dinner?”

“No, we’ll order a take away.”

He left looking very circumspect.

“That’s his punishment is it, make him stew all afternoon?”

“Not at all. I sacked him and want to think about what happens next, at least from my point of view.”

“I just read the riot act to him and told him I thought I could save his job.”

“Stella, while I appreciate your concern over the loss of a very good member of staff, it’s my decision as to whether he works here or not and at the moment he doesn’t.”

“So I wasted my time then?”

“No, he apologised and possibly has seen the light, I don’t know, I’ll find that out tonight, but until then he is still an ex-employee.”

“I don’t know why I bother.” She marched off in a huff. I knew why, she likes her stomach and as I’ve said before, David is a very good cook. However, I needed to talk things over with Simon before I offered him his job back or completely terminated his employment.

While the soup was cooking I went to the study and called Andy Bond. I was aware he’d been a bit off last time we’d met but I hoped he’d be professional about possibly reporting child abuse.

“Lady Cameron,” he said very formally when he answered the phone.

“Mr Bond, thanks for taking my call.”

“How can I help?”

I related what Hannah had said to me and his demeanour changed immediately. He asked if she’d been sexually assaulted and I told him I didn’t know and that effectively I was asking his advice about what I did next. I also mentioned the exchange between David and myself and his accusations of planting memories.

“It has happened, but I can’t believe you’d do anything like that anyway. We’ll need to involve social services plus a child psychologist ...”

“Or Stephanie Cauldwell?” I posited.

“I’m sure she’d be fine if expensive.”

“The children in this house get the best I can afford.” I avoided saying ‘my children’, so as not to suggest any takeover plans for Hannah, even though Hannah was making them.

“I’ll need to set up a meeting. As this is historical stuff, she’s not at risk at present so it’ll have to be next week by the time everyone can get together.”

“What here?”

“Might be best if she feels threatened by any of it.”

“Will you contact Dr Cauldwell?”

“Can do.”

He rang off and I went back to my soup and as I stirred it I had a sudden strange feeling about David. I turned off the gas and ran down to his cottage. I rang the bell but he didn’t answer, the door was unlocked and I ventured inside.

“David?” I called but there was no answer. I ran upstairs and he was hanging from the spar in the attic. His face was turning blue. I rushed downstairs and grabbed his chef’s knife and rushed back up the stairs cutting the rope by standing on the chair, then hoping he didn’t hurt himself hitting the floor.

I tore off the rope collar he’d been wearing and getting him flat began CPR, urging the blue light to keep him alive. “You stupid, man,” I said as I pumped his chest, “what were you thinking of?”

He gave a slight gasp and began breathing. I felt his rather bruised throat and he had a pulse. His eyes flickered open. I didn’t know how much he could see but I suspected he could hear more than he saw.

“How d’you feel?” I asked.

“Why didn’t you let me die?”

“I changed my mind about takeaways tonight.”

“Oh,” was all he said, as I watched the bruising and grazes fade around his neck. By the time I left he was able to sit up and drink some water. He also promised he wouldn’t try to repeat his experiment. I helped him down the stairs and made him some tea.

“I’ll see you at seven to discuss terms and conditions of your future employment.”

“I thought we were going to discuss...”

“Terms and conditions, one of those is actually staying alive on the job.”

He forced a smile, “Okay, boss.”

“I’ll send some soup over.”

“Cathy?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

I nodded and left.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2723 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 finished the soup and asked Hannah to take some and a slice of bread over to him. Trish offered to go with her but I told Hannah to do it on her own.

“What was all that about?” asked Stella.

“Giving them a chance to become reacquainted.”

“What d’you mean?”

“I’m not sure if he was loyal to the memory of his time with Ingrid or jealous of losing his loco parentis role to Simon and me.”

“What his one chance, compared to your several?”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” I replied.

“Let’s face it, what’s he got to offer he doesn’t have the Cameron millions nor someone to act as a mother to his father—bit dead in the water, isn’t it?”

“People assume my taking in the children is based upon my need to feel fulfilled as a mother.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, that was fulfilled with Meems and Trish, and even the nursing with Cate and Lizzie. Arguably then we needed each other, but since then the other children have decided they wanted a mother more than I needed to be one.”

“So does this mean you just got sneakier?”

“What d’you mean?”

“Cathy, we know you’re a sucker for a sob story because you’re naturally very generous, but isn’t this just a question of manipulating the kids so they ask you to be their mother, because to them you seem like a fairy godmother who’s offering further magic if they ask in the right way?”

That seemed to hit me between the eyes. I had always thought my motives were honest and informed by the needs of the child or children concerned rather than my own whilst accepting that when you do good things for someone it gives you as much pleasure as it does to them. That I might have been effectively grooming them to ask to call me their mother or Simon their dad left me feeling confused about everything. Not so much the good Samaritan as Munchausen’s Samaritan. If this were even partly true it would destroy me. Instead of just looking to give the children a kind and loving home, I was doing it because I needed it more than they did—how sad is that?
I went to my study and shut the door. Perhaps I should let Hannah go and stay with David instead of living with us. The girls will be upset for a while but it’s not as if she wouldn’t see them every day.

I thought about every one of them but couldn’t see a similar opportunity for them to be with someone else they could be better off with. I wasn’t sure about Hannah either, but I needed to talk to David about her future. They came back to the kitchen together as I went for a refill of my tea mug. They both seemed in good spirits.

“Hi, Mummy, David’s going to do a salmon for dinner.”

“Hello, sweetheart, I thought cottage pie would be easier, at least that was what I thought to do.”

“If that’s what you want, boss, that’s what I’ll do. I just thought the salmon was nicer.”

“Fine, do the salmon then.”

“Can I help?” asked Hannah.

“David?” I asked.

“Sure.”

I almost felt like offering a bike ride to see what she’d really like but it would have been naughty of me and it was raining. Instead I went over my workshop and spent an hour building a wheel. I hadn’t finished it, but I had done the lacing, fitting the spokes though the hub and into the rim. I’d tighten them later and true the wheel as I did. It’s as much an act of patience as anything else having the wheel mounted on the jig—like a pair of forks—through which you slowly spin it as you work to check it’s balanced and spins straight.

Hannah had got fed up with playing with dead fish and gone off to play on her computer instead, I called David into my study.

“I see Hannah and you have become quite close again.”

“Yeah, she’s a lovely kid.”

“D’you miss having her staying with you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Would you like me to see if she’d like to stay at your place again?”

“It’s a lovely thought, Cathy, but she sees you as her mother and Simon as her dad, and while it would please me, I don’t think it would be good for her. She told me she shares a room with the other girls and loves it—she was lonely before. I hadn’t realised it nor did I appreciate what Ingrid was up to. She’s had enough uncertainty and trauma, you can offer security and a loving home, you’re a natural mother and she appreciates the difference from what she had before. I couldn’t offer a fraction of that and I also realise how wrong I was earlier. I’m sorry I acted like that, I really am.”

“Okay, I’ll leave things as they are. I’m not entirely happy for her to call me mummy, but it seems to be what she needs to do.”

“She does because she feels you love her for herself and that you enjoy her being here.”

“As long as she feels loved here, we must be doing something right.”

“Cathy, I feel loved here—and I’m only the bloody cook.”

“You’re one of our extended family and a good friend, David as well as a terrific cook. We love you for both.”

“Thank you.”

“That’s the second time you’ve thanked me for nothing.”

“Nothing? You saved my life, Cathy and that gave me a chance to see what things were really like. You’re practically an angel, doing good works of big and small proportions wherever and whenever you can. You see things that need to be done and do them without further discussion. It doesn’t always make you popular, some people resent your good works, but only because they feel guilty that they hadn’t appreciated the need.

“I died today, Cathy, you brought me back from the void, moments longer and I’d have been gone. It has changed my perspective a little and it’s also enabled me to appreciate some of what you do. I saw your little girl, Billie, she watches everything you do and reports to some golden woman—the chief angel, I suppose. I’ve also seen the golden light inside you as well as a whole rainbow of light surrounding you at times. Tom has said you’re special—he don’t know just how special you are.

“Dear lady, I am in total awe of you and it’s my pleasure to serve you and your family to enable you to carry on your good works. Julie and Trish think you’re an angel, I think I agree with them.”

Before I could argue with him or challenge his assumptions he went back to the kitchen and the salmon we’d have for dinner tonight. For me it was back to the drawing board or should I just accept the kids are here because they’re supposed to be and the same goes for me and all the other adults. It works as well as any other theory, like some crazy goddess put us altogether for some reason known only to herself, either that or I’m in some sort of corny story written by someone with a very strange sense of the dramatic and rigid idea of decency and integrity—perhaps I’d feel happy to meet her.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2724 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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The salmon was delicious, I won’t say any more except that I nearly had to fight Simon off, he wanted seconds and I wanted to use it for sandwiches tomorrow. I won only because Stella told him he was too fat already so didn’t need extra food and I told him that he could take a sandwich to work with him tomorrow. I didn’t actually say it would be a salmon one, but I thought I’d better stick to what he perceived as the agreement.

I checked, I had enough bread to make him a sandwich. I offered Sammi one as well but she declined saying she had a milkshake thingy as she was trying to lose some weight. She has a lovely figure but I didn’t bother to say anything as she had already made up her mind to diet. These size zero models and actresses make the rest of us feel uncomfortable as if we should be the same as them, yet they’re the odd ones. Real women don’t look like stick insects once they get past age fourteen. Then, who listens to me—they’d rather listen to the advertising industry and media who between them probably created the epidemic of eating disorders we see today.

After dinner, the light was fading so we didn’t have a chance to ride—it’s dangerous enough in daylight, let alone after dark. It had also been a dreary, wet day and it wasn’t until mid afternoon or later we saw some sunshine, the strong winds chasing the clouds away eventually; but not before we’d had a soaking. I hope no one got flooded out, there was that much rain.

I settled down to deal with my emails. I’d have thought the number of lunatics sending in strange sightings would have stopped before now, but apparently not. It would seem there is a pack of hyenas running loose in the fens of Cambridgeshire. Perhaps they’re eating all the wallabies, llamas and giraffes they seem to get out there. Needless to say I ditched that one. For the more useful ones I have a stock reply thanking them for helping with the survey and that their record will be passed on to the specialist team dealing with that particular mammal group. I don’t mention that it gets passed on if I decide to send it.

Oh I got one the other day complaining about the tortoises which the writer accused of damaging her garden. I tried to point out that we’re only counting mammals and that tortoises were reptiles, albeit very attractive ones. I had a snotty reply about my showing a lack of empathy for an old lady. I discovered she was forty seven. Must have been a full moon or something.

The funniest one was the supposed escaped hippo—on pure curiosity I investigated that one and found from the local police it was an escaped pig, Vietnamese pot bellied variety. I suppose if you were very short sighted you might mistake them—okay stop laughing, this time I was trying to be sympathetic—barking, completely barking.

Thankfully, some of the records I receive are actually correct or probably so. We have some very competent recorders, and some of those are the people who analyse the owl pellets. Done a bit of it myself, except I had to keep referring to books or charts of the various skeletal bits of the owl’s previous meal. For those who are wondering what I’m on about, owls swallow their dinner whole—not good table manners but effective. Then they have to get rid of the indigestible bits, which they do in the form of a pellet of fur or feathers and the bony bits. These can be dissected and the bones identified and thus records of where the pellet was found can show not only what the menu for the owl’s favourite take away is but also what little furry things were running about in that locality before the owl got peckish. Sort of kills two birds—shall I rephrase that...

Simon came and found me, knee deep in records and emails and asked me to go to bed. I suppose I could have refused but he always looks like a small boy when he’s pleading for a bit of nookie that I tend to give in, although it makes me feel like a—nah we won’t go there.

It almost goes without saying that I had to go for a little wash afterwards and did so carefully. I also decided I wouldn’t be cycling tomorrow—yeah some days he gets more carried away than others. Annoyingly, he was asleep by the time I got back to bed, snoring Rule Britannia or something very similar. I took ages to get back to sleep. Partly this was because I was trying to work out if it was cheaper to take Danielle for her football practices or to send her in a cab. I even went to the length of asking if they gave a discount with a regular, twice weekly account. The amount offered was derisory. So we still ferry her to and fro from within the family. Tom is a great help and Julie can be if she’s in a good mood or not out herself. Rarely, Sammi will take or collect her in her BMW sports, which Danni loves nearly as much as her dad’s F type. Mind you that is a beautiful car, I hate to think how much it cost but much less than John Terry—him of Chelsea FC—who recently splashed out £1.5 M for a Ferrari. I suppose it keeps a few Italians in work, but personally, I’d want a private jet for that sort of money. Perhaps he’s already got one of those. Still compared to bankers, footballers are overpaid.

The next morning arrived too quickly and although the aliens rarely invade us as regularly, it’s quite disconcerting to have four or five bouncing on your bed talking in their giggle language when you’re trying to sleep. It decidedly vexes one—well this one at any rate.

“I’m not getting up until the radio alarm comes on,” I said keeping my eyes tightly closed.

“It did, Mummy, an hour ago—you slept through it.”

The alien who sounded like Trish had made a big mistake. I never sleep through the alarm, well the radio—an hour of Radio 4’s Today programme. I said so and was told that I had. I blinked open my eyes ready to denounce the invaders as fibbers only to discover they were telling the truth. I’d slept right through it and my visitors wanted their breakfasts. It was only half past eight—HALF PAST EIGHT—bugger, they were interviewing for Delia’s successor today, I’m supposed to be there at nine for nine thirty. I suspect I showered so quickly that neither my hair nor body actually got wet, dressing took a bit longer; I fell in the wardrobe putting some tights on. The girls thought it was hilarious. I didn’t.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2725 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 sent a text to Delia to explain I was running late due to a wardrobe malfunction—I fell through the door knocking it of the runners—a job for Maureen when she had five minutes. I asked Jacquie to call her.

I knew nothing about the candidates to take over from Delia, except there were five of them, each of who would have to do a typing test using one of my dictated letters as the audio test. I wonder how many of them can spell Muscardinus avellanarius because it’s mentioned several times. The letter was about dormice and about three hundred words long.

Margot ran the typing test, she’s a secretary to the professor of chemistry; Pippa, Delia and I then interviewed each of the candidates. I need someone who can think on their feet, so my part was to ask them to deal with a problem. It was unlikely to be one that they’d dealt with before, so I wasn’t necessarily interested in the feasibility of their answer, though if it was possible, it would give them extra points.

The first four were technically fine but I didn’t feel they were the sort of person I’d want as my secretary. Part of me was beginning to wish I hadn’t encouraged Delia to enrol—nah, that was nasty of me, but she was head and shoulders above the others.

The last one was Diane who was a few months older than I was. Her typing test was fine and she could spell the Latin of the common or hazel dormouse. Pippa asked about her past and she originated from Bristol—well it’s a big place—her husband was in the civil service—MOD to be exact and they’d moved to Portsmouth a few months ago. She’d had to give up her job at the University of the West of England, where she worked in the biology department.

It explained her ability to spell Latin names. Delia asked her about what she’d done at Bristol and she’d been secretary to the department in general rather than to the professor, although she covered his secretary when she was off. Things were looking better.

It was my turn to ask a question. I explained that I would present her with a hypothetical question and accept her hypothetical answer. She nodded her understanding. “We have a very expensive, computer controlled, set of cages and tanks for the captive breeding programme for dormice. We release so many into the wild each year and then try to record how they’re coping. The control system is intended to keep them safe during the winter and simulates the same sort of temperature they could expect to have in the winter. It even simulates rainfall to keep everything moist—dehydration is a real risk to hibernating dormice. It’s six o’clock and you’ve stayed on to finish some typing you knew was urgent. You hear a noise, an alarm of some sort coming from my office. On entering you realise it’s the alarm from the computerised system for the captive breeding programme. Everyone else has gone home, me, the other teaching staff and the technicians—what d’you do?”

“Might I ask you some questions, Professor?”

“You may.”

“Does your secretary normally have any involvement with the breeding programme?”

“She might.”

“Would she have access to the laboratories?”

“She could, and would be told how to access them.”

“Are the names of staff and contact numbers kept in your office?”

“Yes, and you would have access to them.”

“Finally, would she have access to the people who run the computer system?”

“It would all be in the filing system.”

“What time of year is it?”

“Say December or January.”

“Thank you,” she sat and thought for a moment. “I think I’d go and check that there was a malfunction or if something else was causing the alarm to sound. If it was the dormouse alarm, then I’d call the technicians first to see if they could come and sort it, if they weren’t available, I’d call you.”

“Why me, why not another member of staff?”

“I saw your film on dormice, so I suspect you know everything about the programme and could come and sort it.”

“I’m not there.”

“Okay, I’d try other staff members presumably by then I would know who would be next most useful to sort it.”

“You can’t get hold of anyone else.”

“Is it getting colder or hotter, the system?”

“It’s warming up.”

“So the dormice could wake up too early?”

“Indeed.”

“I’d try and get the company who run the backup to come and see it asap.”

“They want five hundred pounds to come on a call out.”

“I’d check the contract, it might be they’re obliged to do so anyway and the fee might just be an obstacle to try and stop us insisting they come. If they could advise me over the phone how to sort it, that would be fine, if not then I’d insist they came and wait until they got there. I presume your dormice are beyond cost?”

“Thank you.” She impressed me but then she was from Bristol. I hadn’t read their application forms, I left that to the girls to do. We thanked her and told her if she was successful she would hear in the next week. She left and after some tea was brewed we set to discuss our impressions. While the tea was being made I looked through the forms and saw that Diane had attended Bristol Grammar School for Girls. Could that be a problem?

I adjourned outside for a few minutes and called Siân. Did she know a Diane King? “What from school?” she paused. “There was a brunette called Diane, she seemed all right, don’t remember her surname, could have been King.”

“Is she likely to remember me?”

“What as Charlotte?”

“Y—yeah,” I stuttered and blushed.

“She might have met you, so she could remember you, but probably won’t, why?”

“I’ve just interviewed her as a secretary.”

“You going to give her the job?”

“Probably.”

“Cathy, you can’t go on living in the past or fearing it. If she wants the job, she’s hardly going to make trouble is she?”

“I just think about the children and what adverse publicity might do to them.”

“You sure about that? Sounds more like you don’t want reminders of your past; but why does it matter anyway, it’s all in the public domain and no story anymore, is it?”

“I don’t know—okay thanks.”

“Yeah, see you—oh we must get together again.”

“I’d like that, how’s Kirsten?”

“Much bigger but doing okay apart from swollen ankles.”

“Give her my love, when’s the baby due?”

“About two weeks.”

“Hope all goes well.”

“Thanks, byeee.”

I returned to my office and the other two who were now joined by Margot. “Problems, Cathy?”

“Not really. Only one impressed me, that was Diane and I might have known her at school, but I’m not sure.”

“Oh,” said Pippa.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2726 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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“What makes you think you knew her?” asked Pippa.

“It’s very possible, she went to the same school as I did.”

“She’s thirty two, Cathy.”

“So will I in December.”

“Yes but she was born in March, so she’d be the year above you.”

“She might still have known me.”

“I didn’t know half the kids in the year below me, did you?”

“Only if they were bigger and tried to bully me.”

“I must have been lucky, I never got bullied; did you Delia?”

“Not physically, though some were pretty nasty on the internet and mobile phones, casting all sorts of aspersions.”

“Thank goodness such things weren’t available when I was a school kid.” I think they’ve all forgotten I went to a boys’ school.

“So what was it like then?” asked Delia, who is quite a bit younger than Pippa and I.

“Whispering campaigns, name calling, occasional physical stuff,” said Pippa, “And that was just the nuns.”

“Oh God, you didn’t go to a convent too?” gasped Delia.

They compared notes and discovered they attended the same school but ten years apart. “You didn’t go to a convent as well, did you, Cathy?”

“No, a grammar.”

“Of course, Bristol Grammar, like Diane King.”

“Yes.” It was partly true, we both went to Bristol Grammar but she went to the girls and I went to the boys. The reasons she might remember me were two-fold, first I was a sort of celebrity freak, being small, girlish and so called ‘pretty’. I was also the oldest boy treble in the school choir, plus of course some of the girls were miffed that we did Macbeth without using any of their pupils for the female parts, as had been the usual practice. Sometimes I think, Murray only did it to try and embarrass me enough to leave his school; which just made me even more determined to stay and annoy him. I couldn’t knock the skin off a rice pudding in a fight, but neither did I run away from adverse events. I still don’t which some may consider to be the sign of a slow learner.

I eventually saw a thing about total fighting, which is where the practitioners use any and everything as weapons, including bits of your opponent, like clothing or anything they may be carrying. Nothing is out and there is a danger of inflicting serious if not fatal injuries, so it needs to be used with caution; but if someone is intent on hurting you, you give it back to them before they get you a sort of pre-emptive strike. Much of it is about state of mind, instead of accepting a beating or kicking which might eventually do serious damage you grab them by their bags and swing them head first into walls and things. It’s not about fighting ethically, it’s survival stuff using surprise and whatever you can turn into weapons, the end point being to attempt to disable opponents before they hurt you, so kicking knees, punching throats or grabbing weapons is fair play. It’s not pretty but it has saved my skin a few times, especially when used with kickboxing.

However, I don’t suggest everyone should even think about it unless they feel their lives are at risk or they are expecting serious injury themselves, in which case hurting your opponents is surely acceptable, if somewhat unusual for a girl. Then we had a girl round the corner from us who was a junior English champion at karate. I’ll bet no one teased or bullied her afterwards and probably not for some time before. Much of it is timing and knowing what you’re going to do, which is thought out milliseconds before you do it. Then you do it fast and furiously. If they’re still standing after two blows, start running.

“So how do you find out if she knows you?” Pippa brought me back to the here and now.

“Ask her I suppose or wait until she says something.”

“I think it might be better to wait for the latter, Cathy. I mean it’s not like declaring a conflict of interest, is it. So you may have known her or she you, but you didn’t realise it until after the interviews were concluded.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right, besides she could simply recognise me from my two films or that bloody youtube clip.”

“It does tend to haunt you, doesn’t it,” she smirked and I felt like cringing.

Then I suddenly thought, if she did recognise me and put two and two together, so what? I’m fireproof. I’m legally female, a married one with legally adopted children and a senior position in the university which supports me and my changeover. All those who need to know, do and support my reassignment. So why should I feel like a criminal? On the other hand I’m not out and proud because I don’t think that’s appropriate for me, what others choose to do is up to them and as long as they respect my choices, I’ll reciprocate.

“Oh well whatever, tell her she’s got the job and sort out when she can start will you?” I asked Pippa. “Preferably before Delia leaves, and I hope she’s going to get some form of holiday between that and starting as an undergrad.”

“All sorted. Diane is a free agent, this is her first attempt at a job since moving here a couple of months ago, she can start when we want her.”

“How about shadowing Delia for a week or two?”

“We considered that too, but wondered if we could afford it, given the cutbacks.”

“They don’t apply to crotchety old professors,” I said trying to keep a straight face.

“Ah, the Agnew school of thought,” quipped Pippa.

“And there’s me thinking it was some form of Neoplatonic Confucionistic Calvinism.”

“Ah, the old fashioned school of bullshit which is said to baffle brains, especially when laid on not so much with a trowel but with a dirty great shovel.” Pippa sounded unconvinced by my attempt at muddying the issue—just for fun.

“You know me, Pippa, I try to...”

“Scatter red herrings like it was shoal time.” She smiled wickedly at me as I groaned at her pun.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2727 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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For Annie G who likes to read this in bed on a Sunday morning!

It was early afternoon before I got home where I made a sandwich while David continued making whatever it was he was doing for dinner. “What are you cooking?” I asked.

“Steak pie, why?”

“As I pay for it...”

“Repressive regime of capitalist patricians.”

“I’m not a catapult,” accused Trish walking in on the end of David’s pretend protest.

He looked at me as if to say, WTF? “What?” was all his mouth managed.

“You said I was a catapult Patricia.”

“No, I was talking to your ma, telling her she was a repressive capitalist patrician.”

“Her name’s Catherine not Patricia-Anne.”

It’s good to know that when in a hole, stop digging. David didn’t seem to realise he had more chance of winning an argument with the cat. I finished my sandwich and my drink and left them to it, neither one seemingly aware I was gone. I went to my study and looked again at the application that Diane Wheeler nee King had submitted.

I tried to think if I had met her and I couldn’t honestly remember. Why did it bother me so much? Not long ago I’d decided I was fireproof, now I wasn’t so sure. Oh why does this keep happening to me? It’s ridiculous—I’m a happily married woman with a houseful of kids—so how can anyone really accuse me of anything except over population? I had a photo of all of us together last Christmas, I think Pippa might have taken it, or more likely Henry. Simon and I, me holding Lizzie, him with Cate sat on his lap, Mima, Trish and Livvie sat cross legged in front of us, Julie, Phoebe, Sammi, Jacquie either side of Danielle, who’s standing in the middle behind us. If we do the same next year, we’ll have to include Hannah.

I had the same photo in my office as in my study at home, whenever I felt a bit down I’d take a long look at it and realise that all of the smiling faces there, loved me and to some extent relied upon me to look after them—even the grown up ones.

I have another photo with Stella and her two on it as well, as are Tom, Henry and Monica. Sometimes it’s good to know you’re part of something bigger than you. I have good relations with all of them, which I’m really glad about.

Instead of working as I’d planned, I looked at the photos on the wall. Each one of my family had an individual picture including Billie. I needed to get one of Hannah to put up there as well. I had one of my parents, which was a few years old. I missed them like mad. A girl misses her mum for advice or opinions on so many things. I missed her very much, and talked to her photo often. I spoke to my dad as well, hoping that I wasn’t part of the cause of his stroke.

My adopted father, Tom, I had a lovely picture of him, that was a few years old too. He was trying to explain something to one of my kids, so was unaware the photo was being taken. He’s such a kindly old chap and loves having my children as his grandchildren as much as they love having him there as their live in grandparent. I’ve known all of them ask his advice even when they weren’t sure he’d say what they wanted to hear. All the same, they’d respect what he said because of his huge experience of life compared to theirs. I try to foster that respect, though I’m probably the least accepting of Daddy’s advice of the whole bunch. Even Simon is better than I am of listening, to Daddy anyway. Perhaps I’m just perverse but I don’t like authority figures, always feel I’ve got to be in control myself—obviously some neurotic need in me.

“Oh, you’re in here?” Stella walked in to my study disturbing my reverie. “What’s this?” she asked picking up Diane Wheeler’s application form. She glanced through it. “She grew up in Bristol—didn’t you go the same school as her?”

“Yes,” I didn’t particularly want to discuss it.

“So you know her?”

“I don’t know, more chance she knows me.”

“From your films?”

“Possibly, but she might possibly remember me as the boy who wore dresses sometimes to the boys’ school.”

“So, is that a problem?”

“I don’t know.”

“Seeing as she’s the secretary and you’re her employer, aren’t you supposed to be the one in charge here?”

“That’s the theory.”

“Well make it so. Tie her up in contracts.”

“We have generic contracts.”

“Isn’t divulging personal information an offence.”

“Depends upon the information and whether it was deliberate or not.”

“Mightn’t do any harm to remind her of it.”

“I could I suppose.”

“Right that’s sorted, now what about this supposed badger cull in Dorset.”

“It’s stupid, it didn’t work before so why should it do so now?”

“You’re the expert, so how come they had twit of a farmer in favour of it—there’s a surprise—and some woman from the Zoological Society of London, how come it wasn’t you?”

“I’m not an expert on badgers.”

“But you are someone who studies mammals.”

“Dormice, if you remember correctly, and they only thing they have in common is being nocturnal.”

“Apparently the edible dormouse is spreading fast from Tring.”

“Not surprised, that was Rothschild.”

“Getting into people’s homes and causing problems.”

“It’s not new, so why the resurrection now?”

“Don’t ask me, perhaps they’ll be the next item on the cull list.”

“Could be.”

“According to the article I read they’re selling loads of traps for them—live ones—does that mean they electrocute them?”

“No, the exact opposite, it means they catch them alive.”

“And then cull them?”

“Think you need a permit to do that.”

“They look kina cute.”

“Until it’s your wiring they’ve chewed through.”

“Oh don’t.”

So I didn’t.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2728 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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“You’ve eaten all the ice cream.”

“What all of it?” Trish didn’t appear to believe me.

“Yes, all of it.”

“Even the tub in the other freezer?”

“There isn’t one in the other freezer, that was it, the one you finished yesterday.”

This borders on negligence,” she said as if preparing to bring charges.

“I didn’t eat it, you lot did.”

“It’s our job to eat it yours to buy it, Mummy.”

“Sounds like I get a bit of a raw deal,” I replied to our resident genius.

“Not my fault, you chose to keep us.”

“Hmm, perhaps it’s time to get rid of the old ones and get some new ones,” I said as a joke of the lead balloon sort.

“You’re gonna get rid of us?” she gasped tears dribbling down her face.

“I could, but only of the moaning variety,” I continued never learning from my past mistakes.

“Do I moan, Mummy?”

“What was that about ice cream?”

“Oh it doesn’t matter, Mummy.”

“I’m glad we agree on something.”

She rushed off and a while later Meems appeared. “Is you gonna get wid of us if we compwains?”

“I could do couldn’t I?”

“Don’t get wid of me, Mummy, I wuv you,” she clamped on to my waist as if she was frightened a tidal wave would wash her away.

“I love you too, Meems.”

She was sobbing as she pleaded with me not to get rid of her. It was then the penny dropped and I felt about two inches tall. Oops, didn’t quite describe the calamity I’d created for myself this time around.

I took her hand and we walked up to their bedroom where Trish and Livvie were crying and packing. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“You said you were gonna get rid of us,” was sobbed at me.

“I was joking.”

“No you weren’t, you said you were going to get some new children because we moan too much.”

“It was a joke,” a rather bad one.

“I didn’t mean to complain about the ice cream, Mummy, don’t get rid of me.” In seconds I had three sobbing children pleading with me. I hugged them and realised rather late how vulnerable they all felt. How stupid can you get—or should I say, can I get.

“Look, all of you, I’m not getting rid of anyone—okay? You are all staying here as long as you want—do you all understand?” That was pretty categorical, the only problem was they weren’t operating on reason or listening, they were all on emotional wavelengths—running on fear.

I was so glad Hannah and Danni had gone out for a walk with the baby and Cate. I don’t think I’d have coped with more than three of them in such distressed states. It was an hour before they calmed down enough to listen to my assurances that they could all stay with me because I loved them all.

Then, making them all wash their faces, we went off in the car to the nearest supermarket and bought two tubs of ice cream—perhaps bribery would work where words hadn’t. By the time we were home the others were back, so most of the first tub was consumed, helped by Stella and I having some as well. That’s the problem with having a large family, it’s like a swarm of locusts—of the ice cream eating variety.

“What got them all upset?” asked Stella.

“I rather stupidly said I was going to trade them in for less complaining children.”

“Oh, really clever stuff.”

“I realised that as soon as I said it,” okay, it took a bit longer than that but she doesn’t know it, does she?

“What possessed you to say it?”

“I was a bit miffed with Trish suggesting it was my job to buy ice cream and hers to eat it.”

“Sounds about right to me,” she replied.

“I don’t know why but it just caught me on the raw and I said perhaps I should swap the older kids for new ones.” She looked at me as if I’d just confessed to killing dormice. “It was a mistake, but I did it.”

“Mistake—that’s putting it politely...”

“I know.” I felt bad enough with three sobbing kids, this took it to a new level of torture.

“You know how sensitive they are—they’re every bit as bad as you are when you think someone is questioning your femaleness.”

Oh shit, that bad? “I tried to tell them I love them, what else can I say?”

“Want me to speak to them?”

“Is that going to make any difference?”

“I don’t know, but at least I’m trying to help.”

“I realise that, Stella, and I’m really grateful.”

“You don’t sound it.”

“I am, but I’m also disgusted at my own stupidity, but have no one to blame but myself.”

“Oh look out, world, Cathy’s going to have a major guilt trip—don’t try and stop her, she loves every second of it.”

“Oh don’t, Stella. I said I was sorry.”

“Wait here, I’ll go and talk with them.” So that’s what I did, waited for big sister to go in and convince them I was an idiot and really sorry for pushing their buttons. She was gone about twenty minutes, returning as the rain splashed against the windows—this is supposed to be summer. The weather seems as out of kilter as everything else.

“Right, they understand it was a joke that went wrong and have accepted a thousand pounds each and tub of ice cream every day, plus they expect you to do their homework for them and they want to watch Game of Thrones, on satellite.”

“What?”

She roared with laughter, “The look on your face was priceless.”

“Gee thanks, Stella.”

“Look, I explained it was a mistake and that they’d all still be living here when they were sixty and you’d be ninety four and still messing everything up.”

“How can I be thirty four years older than they are, I’m not thirty two yet?”

“Dramatic licence, don’t complain I just saved your bacon.”

“And they’re ten years old, so I’d only be eighty four when they were sixty.”

“A mere detail.”

“I’m a scientist, we deal in details.”

“Cathy, you take everything too literally.”

“Now you sound like Simon.”

“I’m his sister if you can remember that far back.”

“Nothing wrong with my memory.”

“Except you can’t remember how upset these kids get when you pretend to ditch them.”

“All right point taken.”

“Good, just remember and learn from it.”

“I will, I never want them to feel unwanted, we all love them.”

“I know, they know too it’s just now and again they wonder if it’s all going to go pear shaped, remember they have experience of being dumped or abused or both...”

“I promise they won’t ever feel like that in this house.”

“Even in jest?”

“Not even in jest.”

“Well done, sis.” We hugged.

“And, Stella...”

“Yeah...”

“Thank you.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2729 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 suppose in the end it all finished reasonably well, though I wondered if some of the trust I’d worked so hard to establish with the children had been lost. If that was the case I only had myself to blame.

A restless night ensued with me reflecting upon my stupidity. How could I have been so dumb? When I spoke to Simon about it, he shrugged and told me it was pretty dumb and not to do it again—then he drifted off to sleep.

I could say that I had all sorts of strange dreams, but I didn’t. I don’t think I slept at all, not a wink. I did go into the girls room a couple of times and told them quietly that I loved them. Not one of them stirred or seemed aware I was there. They all slept soundly. The next morning I was a total wreck. Stella saw me lurching about in the kitchen and sent me back to bed. I managed two hours before I got up, feeling slightly better and together with a power nap after lunch, managed to keep going.

The weather improved so it only rained for twenty three hours that day. Danni eventually went off to meet up with Cindy and was then going to football training where I or one of the others would collect her at half past seven. In the end, Julie went and got her.

Something I hadn’t mentioned before, is that Simon bought Julie a new car, an A class like I used to have. Her car then went to Phoebe. He also got a new one for Stella as a birthday present—she had the new XE Jaguar, and her Vauxhall Corsa went to Jacquie, who was delighted to have her own set of wheels. Sadly, we had to take away some of the grass to increase the parking area, which Maureen organised and she also had white stripes painted to mark out designated parking spaces.

That now meant all the adults living here had cars. As an environmentalist I was horrified—how could we justify half a dozen cars in one household? That wasn’t including the S type or Simon’s XK which were garaged; he was now using the F type, which is a beautiful car and which he washes every week if the weather permits. Mine is parked alongside and also gets washed most times and so do Tom’s Freelander and Mondeo. The latter is the general purpose car and gets used by most of us from time to time.

Stella had the Corsa after her car ended up in the dock, her old Fiesta which was never quite the same again and Simon managed to swap it for the Corsa. He holds an account for a car dealer—one who runs lease cars, and if he knows he has a good one available for sale, he gives Si the nod and if we want it, we get it at a sizeable discount. The dealer, Martin Creech, also got my Jaguar for me and Simon’s and Stella’s for them. Stella had hoped she’d be getting a new Range Rover, until Simon told her he could get her one but she could pay for it herself. Interestingly, she seemed overjoyed with her Jaguar after that.

There are times when I could happily murder Stella, as she seemingly saves her own money while happily spending Simon’s. One day I grumbled in Henry’s hearing and he took me to one side and told me that it was what she thought she was doing, but the bank watches what she spends and deducts it from an allowance she gets as a shareholder. She thinks it’s expenses and tax, but it’s actually what she thinks she’s duped from Simon.

I asked him why she couldn’t be made to spend her own money. “If only, Cathy. Ever since she was little, she’s been very jealous of her brother and she set out to get one over on him. She started by borrowing money which he earned and not paying it back.” As Henry saw what was happening he increased Si’s pay, he had to do things like washing his dad’s car and a few other chores, Stella was supposed to help her mother but never did.

She trained as a hairdresser which disappointed Henry as he considered she was capable of better. He set her up in a shop, which after a couple of years she sold and pocketed the money. After that he decided to deduct money from her dividends from the bank. He did, however, help to finance her through her nurse training especially after she looked after his mother when she died from cancer, the year Stella graduated.

When Henry and his first wife split up he felt guilty and he tried to compensate the children by giving them money. They didn’t know what the other had but assumed it was the same. The money was invested for them and Stella saved hers as she thought and tried to spend Simon’s: Si, however, discovered a flare for making money and doubled his in less than a year. Stella thought she was enjoying his profits but discovered her money had lost value as interest rates dropped. In fact Henry had deducted the money she thought she had got from Simon, who seemed unable to say no to her. It was several years later he discovered that his father was repaying him all the money she took from him. No wonder he isn’t at all exercised by her apparent profligacy.

It’s something I felt very angry about, especially his refusal to do anything about it—he didn’t need to. Henry is obviously not only smarter than I thought but also sneakier and more aware of his children than I realised. I hope I am with mine, but I wouldn’t actually bet on it—my incident with them and my ill judged joke proved that to all and sundry, but especially me. It seemed that not only did I not know them as well as I thought but I didn’t know myself either.

After dinner, Julie went to collect her sister from soccer training as I was busy with the younger children, playing board games, which may well have been driven by my feelings of guilt from the day before. However, they enjoyed themselves even though predictably, Trish won most of them—she is just cleverer and more competitive, a lethal combination. I also suspect they don’t mind who wins, they even let me win a game of Scrabble, which I was trying not to win but just playing to try and stop Trish conquering all before her. Of course I can beat her at that without much bother but give her a few more years and I won’t. For the moment though, there is one game at which I’m better—my spelling is better and my vocabulary larger, plus I’ve played Scrabble since I was a kid and have done crosswords as well for many years. Trish prefers mathematical logic to lateral thinking as per cryptic crosswords, so perhaps I’ll keep my edge for a while longer.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2730 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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Trish remained a challenge as did most of our children. Several had been sexually assaulted when younger and we were never sure if their various therapies had dealt with these or if they would rise like zombies and continue to terrify their victims. Only time would tell.

When I wasn’t threatening to dump them, I tried to show the girls that they were loved unconditionally in the hope that it would help to heal their emotional scars. Trish astonishingly, never seemed to give vent to any feelings from her assaults by Ben Bowditch except that one occasion a few years ago when she found the words to tell me what happened. I’m hoping that because the perpetrator is deceased she’ll be able to move on and not be held back by his apparent domination of her. She discovered his death herself on the internet and told me she was glad he was dead, falling from a window.

At least he couldn’t pop up again in her life, of that I was certain, so perhaps she will move on. I recall the day she told me, she seemed full of sex, asking questions about it, like there was no tomorrow. What I hadn’t realised was simply that she was trying to find words that would describe her ordeal, when she did so, she astonished me and although it upset her to tell me, she told me in such a matter of fact way, it had to be true.

I hoped the others would learn to be equally sanguine about such things. Children were such paradoxical creatures, vulnerable and so easily damaged yet at the same time almost invincible compared to adults who are so wrapped up in themselves and their complexes. Unfortunately, damaged children can become damaged adults and then the outcomes can be less than positive, especially if the abused goes on to become an abuser or is unable to function fully as an adult such as not being able to form relationships with the opposite sex. It’s a real minefield, and so many transgender people have been abused one wonders if it contributes to the causation.

It was half way through the last week of the school holidays when I had a call from Sam Rose, one of the nicest men you could ever meet. “Cathy? It’s Sam.”

My tummy flipped, what did he want? “I’m not taking any more children, the freezer’s full already.”

He roared with laughter. “You have a wicked sense of humour, Lady Cameron.”

“You have to with ninety three children.”

“I’m sure.”

“Cut to the chase, Dr Rose, what d’you want? If it’s water into wine, I’m still working on it.”

He laughed again. “Okay, I am after something. I have a young lady here who is feeling very isolated...”

“Don’t tell me, she’s transgender?”

“In one.”

“I can’t take any more, Sam, the house can’t physically cope and some of its residents are beginning to pall at the subject.”

“I wondered if perhaps you could meet her and her mother, just for a chat and a coffee.”

Why should I? I’m trying to move on and encourage the children to do the same. Meeting another child and clueless parent does nothing for me except annoy me. “Why should I, Sam—what’s in it for me except a reminder of mine and the children’s past.”

“She’s desperate.”

“What about Mermaids?”

“They don’t have anyone locally. Nearest is Oxford, apparently.”

“If I did offer to meet, it has to be on my terms.”

“Of course; what did you have in mind?”

“No surnames...”

“Fine, so just Cathy?”

“Yes, no mention of my history or current occupation, status and so on.”

“No problem, just Cathy who has had a transgender child.”

“Is that enough?”

“Yeah, can I give you her phone number?”

“If you must.”

He reeled off a mobile number and I called it from our landline which is ex-directory so would leave no number.

“Hello?”

“Hello, I’m Cathy, are you Sue?”

“Yes.”

“Dr Rose asked me to call you.”

“About our daughters?”

“I believe so.”

“Thank you so much for phoning, I feel so alone at times.”

“D’you know Café Republic, out towards Cosham?”

“Is that the one near the Pub?”

“The Green Man.”

“Yes, I know it.”

“Could you be there at two thirty?”

“What today?”

“Yes.”

“I think so.”

“I’ll see you there, then. Please don’t be late my time is very limited.”

“Is it okay if I bring Charlotte?”

“That’s up to you.”

“Okay, I’ll see you at half past two.”

David had just arrived and I asked him if we could have lunch at twelve o’clock as I had to go out this afternoon. He told me it was no problem. He was doing lasagne for dinner, it would be jacket potatoes for lunch—did I have any preference for filling. Tuna came to mind but I suggested cheese until he reminded me we’d have cheese with the pasta for dinner. We went for tuna as they’ll all eat it.

I did some stuff with the girls, including checking their school uniforms for fit. Seems we didn’t need too much for next week, mind you getting it would be like sending them off to Hogwarts. I’m sure one of the shops we have to use sells magic wands.

I made the mistake of telling blabbermouth Watts where I was going and she of course wanted to come as well. “What for? It’ll only give you away if she knows I have a trans kid.”

“Her daughter might be lonely too,” she said making me feel totally unworthy.

“If she guesses you’re transgender, what will you tell her?”

“I’ll tell her I was.”

“What if she recognises you?”

“Isn’t that more likely to happen to you, Mummy. You’re the one who’s always on telly or in the papers.”

“I just wanted you to be aware that there might be consequences to your actions and her recognising you could be one of them.”

“What if I recognise her?”

“That’s her problem.”

“That’s a bit hard, isn’t it, Mummy?”

“It’s real life, it gets hard. Now I don’t want you revealing anything about any of us, so no surnames or mentions of titles or work.”

“But she might recognise you.”

“I’ll have to take that chance. I’m going in jeans and a top, I’d like you to wear something similar.”

“You don’t want me all girly, then?”

“No, definitely not. You look female in anything, I don’t want this to get too camp.”

“Okay, Mummy.”

“Go and change as soon as lunch is over.”

So it was at a quarter to two we set off for Cosham and the café. Trish was quite looking forward to the meeting, I was dreading it and it was definitely the last time I got involved with other people’s transgender children.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2731 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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We arrived at Coffee Republic or whatever the café was called and although there were several people in there no one resembled a young mother and a child. I picked what looked like the most private table and Trish and I sat down. The waitress arrived and I asked her to come back as we were expecting someone else shortly, so we’d wait.

Trish spent most of her time looking at a display of cakes, almost drooling in anticipation. I’d decided when Sue and Charlotte arrived I’d have Earl Grey and some lemon drizzle cake, Trish I suspected would go for the gateau, she loves it. I must ask David to do one for us again, all the kids love it, as do I; but I avoid it, especially with cream poured over it. Sadly, Simon doesn’t which is why he’s half a stone heavier than he used to be and I’m not.

I glanced at my watch, it was now twenty five to three and our guests were late. I called the waitress and order tea and cake and Trish had a milk shake and gateau. The order arrived just as a rather harassed young woman, about my age arrived with a child, who was in a skirt but still looked very boyish. I waved and she eventually saw me and dragged her offspring towards us.

“You must be, Cathy,” said Sue, “this is Charlotte.”

“This is Trish,” I said introducing our resident genius. They sat opposite us, Sue opposite me and Charlotte opposite Trish. Charlotte looked a bit overwhelmed, whereas Trish was containing herself very well. I suspected I’d pay for it on the way back with thousands of questions.

They ordered, Charlotte opting for the same as Trish had whilst Sue simply had some bog standard tea and no cake. Mine was adequate rather than good and I suspected I could probably do a better one myself, but then I’m quite good at sponge cakes.

We let them settle down before saying anything more than small talk. “Thank you for agreeing to see me, Cathy.”

“That’s okay, it was either this or school uniform shopping.” Oops, that sounded patronising. “So seeing you was obviously more important.” I hoped I’d rescued the moment but doubted it.

“Is Trish, you know—um...?”

“She was.” I glanced at her and she pretended not to be listening.

“Was?”

“Yes, we tend to see it as a transitional thing and that was several years ago. She’s lived as she is for six years.”

“Goodness, how could you be so sure so early?”

“I trusted what she told me and she hasn’t been wrong yet.” I glanced at her and she shot me a beaming smile. “She said she was a girl, so we let her be one and she hasn’t changed her mind ever since.”

“What about school and things?”

“That was more difficult but she started a new one as a girl and hasn’t looked back, she’s treated as she presents and acts.”

“D’you like school, Trish?” asked Sue.

“’S alright, I s’pose.”

“And everything’s okay as a girl?”

“Yeah, course.”

“What about Charlotte, how are you coping?”

She looked at her mother to rescue her, “We’re still trying to find her a school where it won’t be an issue.”

“I thought the law prevented any of them rejecting a transgender child these days.” It wasn’t my experience but then things are supposed to have moved on.

“They all claim to be full of the children of Polish immigrants.”

“I suppose that is an additional obstacle these days.”

“Can we go outside, Mummy?” asked Trish presumably to avoid being scrutinised any further and perhaps also to spare Charlotte the same, or it could be to enable her to use thumbscrews and the rack without Sue seeing it.

The pub had a small playground so we adjourned to that and I sat and sipped a coffee in the patio garden, while Sue had a bitter lemon. The two girls played on the equipment while we chatted and compared to Charlotte, Trish looked like the real thing and acted like the real thing too.

It transpired that Charlotte had been caught trying on the clothing of her cousin when Sue’s sister had come to visit with her daughter, Sue’s niece. On further enquiry, Charlotte claimed to want to be a girl and was most unhappy as a boy. The discussions that followed caused her husband, Mick, to abandon them as Sue was in favour of allowing Charlotte to dress as a girl for the whole of the summer holidays. This was week number six and she had to decide if she wanted to continue as a schoolgirl, she apparently wasn’t sure. I have to admit I wasn’t either, but then not all schoolgirls are dainty things like Trish, or relatively dainty—but then she is on hormones, albeit low dosage ones.

So far the family doctor had been dealing with them as he suggested a dose of girldom over the holidays might be enough for Charlotte to decide if she wanted to stay or revert back. If she stayed he’d refer her to a children’s gender clinic, like the Tavistock, in London. I silently wished her luck as the waiting times were likely to be long ones.

“Is that what you did?” she asked.

“No, my GP knew someone who had dealt with it more locally.”

“Oh, who’s that?”

“Dr Cauldwell.”

“Is he good?”

“She’s very good.”

She pulled out a notebook and wrote down Stephanie’s name so she could ask her doctor to refer Charlotte to her. She looked at the two girls playing on the swings and said, “You know, I think Charlotte is more relaxed now than she’s been all summer.”

“Because she feels safe, I suspect.”

“Oh, you mean she doesn’t feel safe at home with me?”

“She’s with someone who shares a problem she’s got, but who has dealt with it and resumed a normal life. She feels safe because she trusts Trish as a fellow sufferer but one who has more experience of life as a girl and she’s copying her, if you notice.” We watched and Charlotte was almost mimicking Trish and her actions were looking more naturally female not wooden. “You need to have her interacting with girls so she can learn from them.”

“I’m a girl, too,” complained Sue.

“I know, but they learn quicker from their peer groups. Trish came on in leaps and bounds copying her sisters.”

“Oh, Charlotte is an only child, I’m afraid.”

I was sure that there were groups she could join where she’d be with girls her own age and who’d teach her how to be a girl, simply by copying what they did.

That was the limit of how much help I thought we could be. I had given her an alternative to her GP’s ideas. We parted at half past four and I drove a rather sweaty young woman home.

“Well?” I asked her as we drove home.

“If I had a couple of months I could turn her into a girl...” This child cracks me up, she really does.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2732 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 related what had happened with Sue and Charlotte and how Trish had taken over in the playground. Simon just snorted. “She’s a case isn’t she?”

“She is so precocious at times I almost feel I’m talking to an adult.”

“Would she be able to do it if she had time?”

“What turn Charlotte into a girl?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know but she’d give it a jolly good try.”

“Well you taught her...”

“A little, Stella and Mima taught her as well, and of course being surrounded by girls in school.”

“I think your input was the most important—you’re her mother and her main life coach, the thing is who taught you, or was it innate?”

“I doubt it was innate, the problem is we soak up so much when we’re children from everyone around us, it’s hard to distinguish what one learns and from where or who.”

“What about the nature element, do transgender children or adults have different brains to normal folk and do women have different brains to men?”

“The new sorts of imaging they’ve got have shown all sorts of things, including the functioning of autistic males and females is very different. There’s also some suggestion that men’s and women’s brains are different, but next week someone will write a paper saying they’re not.

“There was a thing on the web last week suggesting that testosterone reduces the ability to multitask in women, who it suggested were better able to do several things at once than men.”

“I thought some scientist the other week suggested that multitasking was a myth.”

“You see my difficulty.”

“So who taught you to be a girl or to act like one?”

“I learned stuff from my mother about looking after a house, some sewing and knitting, cookery and so on. Stella taught me loads when I transitioned, and Sian and a teacher when I did the Macbeth thing, taught me quite a lot about poise and movement.”

“A teacher?”

“Yeah, she was the wife of our French teacher and she did dance and other things, she taught me how to walk like a woman.”

“Helped by your impressive rump.”

“Thanks for that, Si, if I didn’t have a complex about it before, I do now.”

“You’ve got a beautiful bum.”

“Not sure if I agree with you.”

“I’m an expert on female posteriors and yours is just perfect—like the rest of you, of course.”

“Simon, some days you are so full of the brown stuff...”

“I know, but it makes me grow,” he sniggered.

“Sideways, yeah.”

“Always rely on my wife to bring me back down to earth.”

“I need to go to sleep now, darling.” I turned over on my side and he spooned into the back of me.

I woke up dreaming about Professor Trish’s academy for turning boys into girls and feeling anything but happy about it. I needed a wee and while I sat on the loo I thought about my silly dream. Trish does feel that all boys would be happier if they were girls presumably because she did; which is a view I don’t share.

Despite all these figures they keep publishing which shows that the numbers of people who have some sort of gender problem is about a hundred and fifty percent of the population, I think it pays too much attention to those who like to play at such things in counting them as transgender. It concerns me because I’m a traditionalist, I like two genders and perhaps I’m a bit black and white but I find all these odd variations are—well, odd.

I know that society is evolving in the west and I’m also aware there’s so much oestrogen in the water systems, that strange things are bound to happen. When added to the fact there’s a clinic somewhere that is just waiting for every weirdo to emerge and declare themselves half horse or something and offer surgery to accommodate them. I really do wonder how much of this is driven by availability of services for various things, or has this weird mix of humanity always been there and just been awaiting opportunity to express itself without being laughed at in the street.

Are people who want to dress up in party frocks any worse than those who stand around freezing cold stations collecting train numbers and who know everything about every nut and bolt on the locomotives. Both seem strange to me, but then they might find it bizarre that I’m prepared to wind my way through undergrowth to check nest boxes for dormice and get a huge enjoyment from it.

Sometimes I almost understand where the so called TERFs are coming from in that I went through a lot of trouble to have the most female body I could get because it reflected my need, then had to jump through legal hoops to get the legal reassignment to female. Yet there are people around who appear to have got the same status and who may never have taken a hormone let alone had surgery.

I know it’s a black and white view and in theory everyone should have the right to declare what gender they are and present as such, but it irritates me somewhat. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to stop them just understand them because we have about as much in common as I do with good ol’ muscardinus. Perhaps they think I’m barking, too. Can’t say I care.

Having exercised my remaining brain cell, I washed my hands and returned to bed glad that I had my personal radiator to snuggle into—the nights were getting decidedly colder and it looked very much as our summer, all two days of it, was well and truly over. This has got to be one of the shittiest I can remember with the wettest August since the last wet one—two years ago? At least it’s dry now—mostly—but we have northerly winds which keep temperatures lower than average. I appreciate that weather and climate are different, and this year will probably be the warmest on record for the earth as a whole, but this little rock in the north Atlantic has been colder than usual all bloody summer.

I awoke to find Simon had gone and the news was filled with what we have to do to deal with the refugee crisis. If we have so many who apparently know what to do, how come we have a problem? It strikes me, that no one knows what to do and that all we can do is try to support those who wish to escape the tyranny of Syria and elsewhere. Quite how best to do so is beyond me.

I saw the pictures of the little boy’s body on the beach and it made me cry. He was too young to die as were the thousands like them who have paid vast sums to criminals who send them out to sea in leaking boats knowing they’re unsafe. If they catch them, I hope they punish them appropriately. Thinking of all of these suffering thousands tended to put my own problems into perspective, and I wished every one of them good luck as I went to shower and then get the girls up.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2733 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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Is it old age or do the weekends come round faster than I’m ready for them? On Monday the girls go back to school and I go back to work as well. If things have happened as they were intended Diane King, her from Bristol, will be shadowing Delia for at least another week if not two. Will I be able to cope with two of them? How would I know, I don’t know anything, Delia runs the department, I just sign the letters, including one to the Times declaring the badger cull to be a huge and probably expensive mistake, the money for which could be used to vaccinate badgers instead of killing them.

If the figures I saw are correct then last year every badger killed cost over seven thousand pounds. This lunacy based upon ideology and a need to keep the farming lobby happy or quiet because they tend to vote Tory.

I got a call from someone I knew in the mammal society about a dormouse survey they were doing near Dorchester but they couldn’t find anyone with a licence that could lead it. I discussed it with Simon who said he’d watch the youngsters on Sunday, because Danielle was playing soccer on Saturday morning.

I called Dorchester back and said I could do the Sunday and they accepted it, saying there were a handful of volunteers who would come then. We had about a hundred nest boxes to check at two sites, so a handful could cope.

When I told Simon I was going to Dorchester on the Sunday, he said something about some steam fair or other at Tarrant Hinton, and asked if the girls would like to go and look round it. Trish, Livvie and Meems said yes, the latter because her daddy was going. Danni said no. I asked her if she fancied dormousing with me and to my surprise she said she’d quite enjoy that. I told her I’d buy her lunch and she smiled at that. I also said I was coming to watch her play that morning and she smiled even wider.

We ended up with two carloads going to watch Portsmouth ladies versus Brighton Belles. It was quite a physical game, which I found difficult to watch. Brighton were well aware of Danielle’s abilities and every time she was near the ball someone chopped her down. Apparently Portsmouth were well aware of this probability and while Brighton seemed to control the midfield stifling everything Pompey tried, eventually, Danni was chopped down illegally within range of one of her bendy free kicks. The inevitable happened and she curved one round the wall which then flew into the top corner of the goal while their keeper simply stood and watched in disbelief. Pompey 1 Brighton 0.

In the second half Portsmouth counter-attacked after ten minutes of Brighton aggression and one of their players ran on to a through ball from Danielle, only to be hacked down in the penalty area. Despite the protests that she dived, she hadn’t by the way, Danielle scored again from the penalty spot, not only making the goalie go the wrong way but the ball was blasted into the net and I doubt she’d have saved it anyway. The final score was two nil and there was a danger that Danielle was heading for top scorer in their league. They’d played three times and she’d scored six times. If they achieved promotion, they’d get into the premier league and be up against the likes of Liverpool and Chelsea ladies. She couldn’t wait but at rising fourteen, she was officially still a junior.

She watched rugby on satellite television with Tom and Simon and then football with England winning both games and Wales beating Italy but losing two players with serious leg injuries just before the world cup started. Halfpenny, him with the long lashes, was one of the casualties so I hoped he’d be well enough to play, he kicks most of their points. Simon said without the two that were hurt, Wales had no chance of winning the competition.

On the Sunday morning, Danni and I set off in my Jag for Dorchester having been warned to avoid the showground area, which is to the east of the town. Using a map suggested by Carol, my contact in Dorchester, we headed to Weymouth and then up to Dorchester thereby missing the show traffic. We arrived at ten only to find the car park full of cyclists on mountain bikes. The local CTC had an event on. Danni of course pulled my leg and said if we’d known we could have brought the bikes with us.

I’ve only ridden an off road event once and nearly killed myself with a low branch—wrecked my helmet—so I decided I’d keep to riding on roads. She still laughed at me all the same. Once the hoard of two wheeled loonies had passed, we parked at the long stay car park, which astonishingly was free on a Sunday. We grabbed a couple of cups of tea from the cafe there, which didn’t look that salubrious but when Carol arrived she told us the food was good and portion control was something they tended to be very generous in.

We left my car and set off in Carol’s Range Rover Vogue—very nice, though she was complaining that some article in the Telegraph suggested it took twenty three seconds for a car thief to open one and steal it. If ever I get one, I’ll buy a big chain and padlock—well it works for my bike most of the time. I said this and Carol laughed as we headed to a wood up past Cerne Abbas. Danni had never seen the famous Giant—a huge figure cut into the chalk of the hillside. The figure is famous in being equipped with a rather large phallus, which made Danielle snigger. She took a piccie with her phone and we continued to the woodland.

The survey took about an hour and we found two dormice. The various notes were made and we drove off to the next site, which was a woodland on a hillside with a bridle path going through it. The path was quite rutted from use by tractors and difficult enough to walk on let alone cycle on. Apparently, the off road event we’d seen starting was coming through an hour or two later.

Our group found one dormouse with babies—four of them—and a couple of volunteers had a go at handling the babies—imagine turbo charged cocktail sausages, in grey. The cars were parked at the bottom of the hill and as we set off towards them, some of the cyclists came through. I had to admire their bike handling skills on the rutted path, then suddenly one of them, a middle aged man flew off his bike over the handlebars and landed heavily on his shoulder. Another close behind came off trying to avoid hitting the first casualty.

They both lay there groaning, I left Carol to help the casualties while we ran up the path to warn later riders and prevent more injuries. “Things seem to happen when you’re about, don’t they, Mummy?” quipped Danielle as we trotted back up the hill.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2734 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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“Accident,” I shouted as half a dozen cyclists approached, and I tried to wave them down. Eventually it dawned on them that whilst we were slowing them down and their times would be affected, if they crashed or hit the casualties they’d be even slower.

“What’s happened?” asked a middle-aged gent with a greying beard.

“There’s been a crash and two people are hurt,” I replied.

“I’m a doctor, let’s have a look at them.” I agreed to keep slowing the riders while he helped the casualties.

“Aren’t you going to fix them?” asked Danni quietly.

“No, that old chap knows what he’s about, let’s just keep the rest of them safe,” so for the next half an hour that’s what we did. When it went quiet we went down the hill to see what had happened. Apparently, the air ambulance had been called and a paramedic in a 4x4 was on his way. Once he arrived the doctor told him what was what and went off on his bike, we went off with Carol just as a noisy yellow machine landed in an adjacent field.

“That was an eventful morning,” commented our chauffeuse.

“Something always happens when my mum is about,” quipped Danni before I could stop her.

“Oh, that sounds interesting, do tell,” urged Carol.

Knowing I was less than pleased, Danni related about how I’d helped several people in accidents, such as the one with the tobogganing boys and the fence post. She also told her about the time I was involved in the attempted robbery at the bank and with the help of the other customers disabled the robbers. I’d forgotten all about it.

“And she got into trouble with the police.”

“What for stopping a robbery?”

“No, she left the scene of the crime before the police said she could go.”

“Naughty Cathy,” teased Carol.

“I had two young uns in school who were expecting me to pick them up and I was already late.”

“Couldn’t you just have told the police?”

“I tried, but they weren’t interested, so I left. It was all on CCTV so it was pretty well cut and dried except things that were said, and they were pretty obvious.”

“It was shown on the telly a bit later.”

“With the sawn off shotguns?”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” smirked Danni.

“I saw that—weren’t you scared, Cathy?”

“Very but I don’t like being pushed around by scumbags.”

“But with guns, it’s so dangerous.”

“It was for them, eh, Mummy?”

“If you say so.”

By the time we were finished with tales of derring-do, we were back in Dorchester and five minutes later were ordering mugs of tea and roast lamb dinners. I sat and completed the Observer, ‘Everyman’ crossword while Danielle looked at the sports pages.

We waited about fifteen minutes and were served with two huge platefuls of food with roast potatoes, new potatoes, carrots, broccoli, green beans, cauliflower and cabbage, plus a few peas as well. Danielle’s eyes widened when she saw her meal arriving. With a Yorkshire pudding and some mint sauce we struggled to finish the whopping dinner, or I did unlike my daughter who temporarily regained her boyish appetite. In the corner we watched a group of four or five of the cycling event organisers chatting. I’d explained to them about the accident for which they were grateful. One of them, an older woman, asked if it was me who’d made the dormouse film. I couldn’t lie, so we chatted about that for a while. It transpired that she was interested in dormice as well. I told her to contact Carol through the wildlife trust to get involved with it locally.

The drive back was bad as we were caught up with the show traffic. I did think about heading north and circling the town but realised if we did we get caught up with the steam fair. Simon and his entourage enjoyed themselves. They all had burgers for their lunches and I suspected cost a deal more than our fresh cooked roast dinners. They got home before us as we hit traffic from both shows, plus they were twenty miles closer to home than us.

“Did you see any do-mouses, Mummy? asked Meems.

“Yes, sweetheart, two adults at the first site and then a mother and four babies.”

“Did she bite you?”

“No, sweetheart, though she was obviously worried about her babies.”

“You wouldn’t huwt them, would you, Mummy?”

“Of course not, Meems.”

“Did Danielle see the babies?”

“She did.”

“Was the mummy mouse wike Spike?”

“A bit, she had a white bit at the end of her tail, as some dormice do.”

“Whyzat, Mummy?”

“It’s just a natural variation, some have white tipped tails and others don’t. Beyond that I don’t know.”

“Huh, some bloody biologist,” said Trish from behind me, running off in a fit of giggles.

Julie smirked then said, “You shouldn’t let her get away with speaking to you like that.”

“Why? You do it all the time.”

“So, I’m a teenager, so it’s acceptable.”

“Says who?” I challenged.

“Says me,” she retorted and we laughed loudly. “Tell you what, if you go again on a Sunday, gi’ me a shout and I might come with you.”

“I told you last night where I was going, but you declined.”

“Yeah well I didn’t know it was going to be such a splendid day. Coulda boosted my tan wandering round.”

“We were in woodland, dummy,” challenged Danni, “it was dark half the time.”

“Trust you lot to make such heavy weather of catching a couple of bloody dormice,” she rolled her eyes which indicated she was joking.

“But you just heard Trish criticising me as an ecology lecturer,” I reminded her.

“What does she know about it?”

“She’ll have read the book,” I said with a poker face.

“Yeah, that about sums her up,” said Julie dismissively. “All she has is book learning which is useless without some practical back up.”

“She still knows more about things than you do.”

“A likely tale,” rebutted Julie.

“It’s true.”

“So how come she needs Mummy to do her hair?”

“She’s ten years old, Julie, I’ll bet you couldn’t do much to yours at that age.” Danni laid into her elder sister.

“I mighta done,” she said blushing but we all knew she was telling fibs.

“Trish can do simple stuff to her hair like ponytails, plaits and pigtails,” I defended her because I felt it was true.

“You’re all ganging up on me, I know when I’m on to a hiding to nothing, I’ll be in my room if anyone wants me.” Julie sloped off up the stairs.

“Can’t think who?” called Danni after her.

“Oh bollocks,” called Julie from half way up the stairs.

“That’s right, turn to abuse ’cos you lost the argument,” Danni said this at her sister rather than to her and probably more for my sake than Trish’s.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2735 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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“She hasn’t got the courage to go to school as a girl?” Livvie asked Trish.

“Not yet, I tried to encourage her but she was too much of a scaredy cat.”

“Perhaps her school is a scary one?”

“Dunno, it’s over the other side of Portsmouth.”

“So what else did she say?” the voice was definitely Livvie’s.

“That she thought I looked like a normal girl and she wished she was me.”

“You are a normal girl,” declared Livvie.

“Thanks, sis.” There was a pause so I think they might have hugged for a moment, they do at the drop of a hat, which I think is sweet.

“So are you gonna see her again?”

“Dunno, don’t think Mummy was too impressed with her or her mother.”

“But you told her you could turn her into a girl?”

“Yeah, no prob.”

“So how can you do that if you don’t see her again?”

“I gave her my mobile number.”

“She gonna call or text you?”

“Don’t mind, but I’ll tell her what to do an’ if she can get to town, we can meet her and show her what to do.”

“That could be good fun—wasn’t fair, you knew how to be a girl when I first met you, I s’pose Mummy showed you how to do it?”

“She helped a bit, but I done most of it myself. I knew what to do, an’ I can teach Charlotte to be one too.”

“Yeah, with my help too.”

“I could do it on my own, you know.”

“Yeah, I know, but it sounds like fun turning a boy into a girl.”

“She’s a girl already, just don’t know how to act like one yet—but she will.”

“Because we’re gonna show her how.” It sounded like they high fived, then giggled. I wasn’t sure what to do now, except stop her trying to run somebody else’s life. While she could undoubtedly assist Charlotte to transition if that’s what the child wanted, I had no intention of letting her dragoon someone into it irrespective of whether they wanted to or not. Somehow I have to get through to her that other people make their own decisions, we don’t do it for them and that child was some distance from transitioning at present. To do it before she was ready would risk two things, make life difficult now because lots of people would see a boy in a dress; second, it could put her off doing it later, when she might be ready, if she gets lots of negative feedback in the form of teasing or abuse now.

Why do we have to have genders? As a biologist I’d say because we propagate by sexual reproduction which means we share DNA and hopefully improve the gene pool. It’s what we’ve done for forty odd thousand years if not longer and most of the time it works quite well.

However, homosexual people and transgender folk are often blind alleys in evolutionary terms as we are less likely to reproduce, though some gay relationships are now becoming parents as society softens its attitude a little.

I heard a heart-warming story recently of a young person who went from girl to boy aged twelve. The school was very supportive and possibly because of the way they handled it, it seemed everyone was happy to accept the new boy, who will use the boys’ changing rooms and so on. To think how my life would have developed if the same sort of support had been shown to me, then again, I might not have met Simon and my life might have been less secure and fulfilled.

I got the children to bed and read to them—something I hadn’t done for a few days. I wondered how I could get Trish to say something about Charlotte, who I could then ask about and see what she has to say about things. I would need to tread carefully or I won’t get an honest answer, instead she’ll try and please me.

In bed I related to Simon what I’d heard between Trish and Livvie. At first he was amused at how they were setting up a business to turn boys into girls. When I challenged it he laughed telling me they were obviously following my model. I didn’t find that funny and got out of bed and went downstairs. I sat shivering in the kitchen with a cup of tea in front of me. After ten minutes he came down and apologised.

“Do you know how many times I’ve been accused of that?”

He shook his head.

“I’ve lost count, but it must be double figures. It really hurts to hear it said by someone who professes to love me.”

“I said I sorry, babes—it was just a joke.”

“I’m going to say this once more, the only boy I turned into a girl was me. The others have all done so because they wanted to, except possibly Danielle, who was tricked and mutilated; but even she seems to have settled down in the role—for the time being anyway. Probably because she wanted to play for England more than she wanted to be a boy.”

Simon winced, “How could anyone feel like that? It makes me shudder to even contemplate it.”

I shrugged, “I think some of it is about living with your limitations. She learned after surgery that she was unlikely to ever have a functioning penis again but that she had a vagina and clitoris which could convey some sexual feelings—although much of that happens in the head not the groin.”

“I thought you said David had some sort of willie.”

“It’s not going to compare to the real thing is it, any more than my vagina is as good as a home grown one?”

“So why bother?”

“Half a loaf is better than no bread at all. I can make love to you and get some enjoyment from it, so it was worth it; plus I never felt any attachment to what was there before.”

“Not even as a teenager when most kids are pulling their puddings two or three times a day?”

“I touched it to wee or wash it.”

“That was all?”

“That was all.”

“You really were a girl, weren’t you?”

“At that stage no, I didn’t know what I was or what was to become of me.”

“Until Stella burst into your life?”

“I’m talking long before Stella. When I was in nursery I realised boys and girls were different and I was in the wrong group.”

“How did you know that?”

“I had a winky as my mother called it...”

He snorted.

“Look if you’re just going to laugh at me you might as well go to bed.”

“What about you?”

“Not just yet.”

“I’ll wait then—tell me about this winky and when you discovered that girls didn’t have one...”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2736 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 felt tired the next morning, then remembered that Simon and I had a rather pointless and inane conversation about winkies. I shuddered before getting out of the bed and lumbering into the bathroom where I walked into the doorpost before making it to the loo.

After a shower, I got the girls up and while they were doing their ablutions, I finished dressing, including some makeup. “Ooh, where are you going, Mummy dear?” asked Livvie, “Looking so smart?”

“Just to work, why, sweetheart?”

“You look very smart this morning, that’s all?”

“Thank you, I’m glad someone noticed.”

“Huh? I seen it too, just didn’t say nuffin’.” Trish chuckled at her impression of some sort of ruffian—least, I hope that was what it was.

“You wook woverwy, Mummy,” I smiled back at Meems and thanked her for what I hope I understood she’d said. She chuckled too. I felt like I was surrounded by wicked pixies, especially when Cate got in on the act.

“So why the smart outfit?” asked Stella at breakfast but before I could reply she answered her own question. “Your new secretary starts today—that’s it, isn’t it?”

“Am I not allowed to wear something simply because I want to?”

“No, you’d be in jeans and tee shirts most of the time, knowing you—so spill the beans, Watts.”

“My mummy’s name is Camewon, Auntie Stewwa.”

“I think, Auntie Stella knows that, Meems, she’s just teasing me.”

“She still goes by Watts in the university, and as she’s supposed to be going there after dropping you lot off at the prison camp, I used her professional name, Mima.”

“Oh, awwight.”

I dropped them off and went to the university where Delia had a day off, so I was left to the tender mercies of my new secretary. So why do I feel probably more nervous than she does? I haven’t been in for a few days, so Delia had been emailing me work. I handed over a pile of papers to Diane and went to my office where I sat at the computer and powered it up. Two minutes later my door was knocked and Diane walked in with a cuppa and placed it on my desk. I told her I’d dumped a lot of stuff on her desk which included signed letters and some drafts for other letters.

In some ways I wrote a better letter when it wasn’t going to typed and regaled with officialdom, when the scratching of my Waterman on paper provided the only noise in my room save the ticking of the clock. I used to enjoy writing letters by hand, these days, except the odd personal note, I don’t have time to write letters that way, though I do try to sign them all in pen and where possible, when they’re going to people I know well, I like to write their name in pen at the top of the letter. It adds a personal touch which I think most people like.

With Diane being new she was naturally slower than Delia and I had to show her where one or two things were kept, if I knew that myself. Usually I left it to Delia or Pippa before her. Once we had to call Pippa because we couldn’t find a series of file and she explained where they were. I had no idea. The initial rush over, we had time for a cuppa and I produced a slightly battered packet of Welsh cakes from my computer bag and offered one to Diane.

She thanked me then said, “You look awfully familiar to me, professor.”

“I’ve made two films which have been shown several times on the BBC.”

“No it’s not them or the Youtube clip. I can’t think of where it was.”

“I did a summer school a year or two ago at UWE, perhaps you saw me then.”

“Perhaps—it was just the one wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, became too busy when the survey started to produce lots of data.”

“They still talk about it, you know?”

“What the survey?”

“No, Watts the summer school teacher.”

“Why?”

“Because it was so far out of the ordinary for most of them, way outside their comfort zone, that they enjoyed it.”

“Shouldn’t it have been the other way round?”

“No, you stirred them from their lethargy, into which your predecessor had allowed them to sink.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, I’m sure.”

“It isn’t, professor, every year they’d ask if you were coming back or did you run summer courses anywhere else?”

“Why?”

“I was told that you were the most inspirational teacher any of them had ever met, it was you with the dormouse, wasn’t it?”

“Who else?”

“It was you at Bristol Grammar as well, wasn’t it?”

“I did a talk there a couple or so years ago, so probably.” I felt a trickle of sweat run down the back of my blouse.

“No, as a school kid there, it was you, wasn’t it?”

“I went there, yes, but I don’t remember you I’m afraid.”

“No but I remember you—I think—you were that girl who played Lady Macbeth, weren’t you?”

“Um—did you manage to find that file afterwards—the badger cull stuff?”

“You used to hang around with that strange Welsh girl, I’m sure it was you. Used to dress up like a boy sometimes—but you’re not gay are you—not with all those kids you have?”

“Diane, we’re not here to discuss my private life however confused you appear to have it, so please let’s get back to our work and perhaps we’ll get finished in time to have some lunch.” I spoke quite sharply because I felt she was intruding and these days no one has the right to do so. If she twigs completely, the next thing she’ll be asking if I’ve had surgery and can I have sex with a man.

She went bright red, “I’m sorry, got a bit carried away. It’s just I’ve been trying to work out where I saw you because I know I have. I’ll get back to that file.”

“Thank you.” She left my room and I knew it was only a matter of time before she either found stuff on the internet or spoke to someone, but I found it intrusive and no longer relative. It would be bad enough if she kept on about my maiden name before I was married, but with my sort of history, it’s bound to surface but now she knows what I think about it and it’s not up for discussion. That won’t stop her asking others and sooner or later she’d have her information it would be what she did with it that mattered.

It seems that badgers and transgender people never have a close season, there’s always some bar steward wanting to take a pop at us. Both of us should be protected but we never are.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2737 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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“Are you really that worried about her finding out?” asked Simon as he lay alongside me gently stroking my breast.

“She probably has by now.”

“So what’s the big worry?”

“It’s about the constant intrusiveness of people. Because I’m transgender...”

“Was—transgender—you’re female now.”

“Okay because I was transgender—oh that is soooo lovely—where was I? Oh yeah, because I was, people seem to think they can ask any sort of prurient question they like without any comebacks. Such as, have you had surgery, can you have sex, is it nice, have you had implants—what right have they go to ask such things—it’s all very personal information.”

“They’re just curious.”

“But they don’t ask non-tg people do they?”

“I’ve never been asked, so I suppose not.”

“You’re more likely to be asked about me, aren’t you—can she shag you, is it deep enough or wide enough—oh god, you have been asked.”

“It was a long time ago and I declined to answer.”

“I mean, if you asked the average woman, she’d likely thump you.”

“I understand, babes, I’ve heard that rather pretty one from Manchester talking about it...”

“Paris Lees?”

“Probably, it’s like the old toilet chestnut.”

“Oh that one, only one person asked about that at the university and they were shot down straight away.”

“Why do women get so upset about the lavs, anyway—they’re all cubicles?”

“I think it’s to do with safe space in the vestibule around the toilets, with the mirrors and washbasins, plus some ladies toilets have a sitting room as well.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever encountered one of those in the men’s bogs.”

“I can understand that more than the fuss about the throne room.”

“I can’t, sounds like a waste of space.”

“Like a ladies waiting rooms at railway stations.”

“So on a miserable cold day, if the general waiting area is full, I can’t go and sit in the ladies one because I’m a man?”

“Yeah, sorry—except they are disappearing from most stations. Take up too much space I suppose. Mind you, dunno how helpful they’d be for isolated platforms and women do get attacked at railway stations—or train stations, as the children tend to say.”

“They do, don’t they—more Americanisms, I presume?”

I shrugged, most people today are sloppy, the way they eat, talk, drive and spell are all slovenly. Sometimes I wonder if it’s as simple a situation as: there are six billion brains on this planet and seven billion people.

“I think I want to roll over and go to sleep now, darling,” and before he could say anything I did just that. He muttered something and cwtched in behind me. The next thing I knew was waking up to find Simon had gone to work and the alarm had switched the radio on which I was trying to integrate into my dreams. I did wake up and rousing the girls went to shower.

If I’d been dreading yesterday’s visit to my office, today felt even worse and I was almost sick thinking about it. I cursed myself for being so silly. I was in the position of power and therefore mostly in control of what should happen, except somehow it never quite feels that way to me.

After dropping the girls off, I drove into the university and parked my car. The Jaguar felt so reassuring compared to how flimsy my office at times felt—it wasn’t, but I felt more vulnerable there than I did at the car; perhaps the car had the advantage of a quick getaway if required.

I tried to casually stroll into my office although underneath my heart was racing and I felt quite sick. I stepped into my office nodding to Diane as I did so, then after taking off my suit jacket, slumped into my chair. She knocked and entered, depositing a mug of tea on my desk, and the post she’d sorted before disappearing in a cloud of perfume.

We’d both spoken briefly so I didn’t feel any negative vibes coming from her, at the same time it wasn’t as cordial as yesterday. I sat reading the same letter for several minutes, sipping my tea and thinking about what had happened.

Because I’d effectively told her to mind her own business yesterday, she may be just doing exactly that and could had taken umbrage at the same time. On the other hand, she could be busy or a thousand other things. I finished my tea and read through the dozen items of mail I had. I also had two journals to glance through and as neither had anything in them of remote interest to me, I initialled the top and put them both in my out tray for the next one on the list.

It was probably an hour later when I emerged from my office and handed the items I wanted Diane to do for me. I explained what was required and because she’s done it before, understood immediately. I made sure that she had an address for each and went back in to deal with my emails—I had fifty of those. “More tea?” she called as i was re-entering my room and I nodded. She came and retrieved my cup—it has a dormouse picture on it, which Simon got done for me about a year ago. It’s bone china so nice to drink from. Can you believe I also have a dormouse paperweight and paper knife, though my key ring has a Jaguar on it.

She brought in my tea, “Thank you, Diane—how are you settling in?”

“Without Delia babysitting me, you mean?”

I winced, “She’s not going to be here for much longer is she, so I hope you’re finding everything you need and I’m not too much of a tyrant?”

“The old place was worse, too much work; here it’s okay and I’m finding my way round. I’d like to rearrange a few things if I might when Delia does finish, as I think they’d work more smoothly.”

“If it requires furniture to be moved around we have to get the porters involved, a few years ago we’d just shove and hump it round ourselves—until someone in psychology wrecked their back lifting a filing cabinet and sued the uni.”

“It will involve moving a couple of filing cabinets, if that’s okay.”

“Fine with me providing you show me where everything is afterwards, just in case I need to find anything.”

“I’ll do a GPS for you, professor.” She smirked then laughed, “I’ll do you a map of what’s kept where.”

“Fine, can we keep all the survey stuff together?”

“Of course, I’m going to do it all down that side of the room, then other files will be down that wall—oh we’ll need two more filing cabinets and as two of them have personal stuff in them—staff records and so on, I think they should be kept in your room as it’s more secure than this one.”

“I thought they were in here,” I showed her and she looked quite perplexed.

We went out to her room and there were two drawers of staff records. When we examined them, it looked as if Pippa and then Delia had kept a brief staff record for things like sick leave or holidays, so as not to need to disturb me if I had a meeting in my room. I don’t do it as often as Tom did—meetings, that is—in my room, I prefer to use a neutral room, so we keep one of the tutorial rooms available for that if no tutorials are scheduled.

At lunchtime we walked across to the refectory and had a snack and a chat. She didn’t say anything about Bristol other than the previous university she’d been at, the UWE. I assumed therefore that either she’d finished her investigations of my identity or given up. I didn’t for one moment believe the latter, so I expect by now she has confirmed I was the girl who used to wear boy’s clothes and go about with the strange Welsh girl, Siân. Oh well, nothing I could do about it.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2738 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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The next morning I was knee deep in paperwork again, this time running some new software that Sammi revised for me and it does all I want plus probably more, but the analysis it does pretty well any two squares on a huge grid can be used to harvest data and because that girl is a genius it can be used in 3D. I can look at a particular species and see what was about on any single day or by recorder or site at the same time. It’s mind blowing stuff, or it is to me and I feel like a kid with a new toy—which it is. When it’s linking in to one and a half million records and doing all this, I can hardly believe it.

So there I am playing with my new toy which she says she wants to link with GPS so I can see almost exactly where something happened, when the phone rang. “Hello?”

“Professor could you take a call from a Dr Samuel Rose?”

“Of course,” a short click followed, “Hello, Sam, to what do I attribute this honour.”

“Were you aware that Trish is coaching Charlotte Murchison?”

“Who’s she when she’s at home?”

“I asked you to speak with her mother last week, mother is called Sue, I believe.”

“Trish asked to come with me even though I suggested that it might imply she was transgender by being there as Sue knew I had a tg daughter. They went off to play in a pub garden while we sat and talked. What has she done?”

“She’s apparently sent her a list of phytogenic plants like soya isoflavones, yams, ginseng and fennel, which Charlotte is insisting her mother buy, oh and she wants only to eat porridge for breakfast. I presume you didn’t know about this?”

“No, I did wonder if they’d swapped mobile numbers—obviously they have.”

“That sounds like the understatement of the year, Cathy. Now, what are we going to do about it?”

“I’ll text Trish telling her not to send anything else to Charlotte until I’ve spoken to her. If you’d like to send her one yourself, I can give you her number.”

“I don’t think I need to do that but I do need to stop her interfering with my patients.”

“She only means well, I’m sure.”

“I hope so, with her brain once she really gets into manipulation Machievelli will look a complete amateur by comparison.”

He already does. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t interfere again, Sam.”

“I have no objection to her treating her own patients but when she’s medically qualified and knows what she’s doing.”

“Message received loud and clear which I will pass on in full. I’m really sorry about this, Sam.”

“What did you think of her and her mother?”

“Apart from clueless not much else springs to mind and I certainly didn’t think Charlotte was anywhere near ready for transitioning.”

“The mother seemed to imply that Trish could turn her into a girl in a matter of weeks.”

Oops. “Ten year olds see things rather simplistically.”

“As a paediatrician I have some inkling of how children think, Cathy.”

“Sorry, Sam,” I wondered if he could feel the heat from my blush over the phone.

“I don’t want to hear anymore about Trish’s finishing school however good it might be. We need to get the diagnosis firmly before such things are useful.”

“She seems to like projects forgetting there might be people involved not just ideas.”

“Okay, sorry to go on, Cathy. I’ll leave you in peace.”

“I’ll speak to her this evening and deal with it.” I immediately sent her a text telling her not to send anymore texts to Charlotte. As I found out later it worked better than I thought because she went to check her message from me and had her phone confiscated for the rest of the day—they were in a maths lesson, as she has special tuition in mathematics, I suspect she might have been a trifle bored.

“Everything all right, professor?” Diane had poked her head round the door. “More tea?”

“Please, it might stop me strangling one of my daughters until tea time.”

She reappeared with two mugs of tea and sat down next to me. “Care to share?”

“I can’t say too much without breaking a confidence but my daughter Trish has an IQ off the scale and she likes to have projects to run.”

“Yes, what’s so wrong with that?”

“The projects are often people, which is fine if she’s coaching them with maths but not if she’s trying to make alterations to someone’s diet or lifestyle.”

“She what? How old is she?”

“Ten, going on twenty five.”

“Precocious?”

“Just a bit.”

“And she’s annoyed you?”

“She’s only—ah, sorry I can’t tell you—confidentiality and all that.”

“As long as you feel better, does it really matter?”

“Yeah, it was just a bit of a surprise to be carpeted by one of the nicest doctors on the planet.”

“The phone call?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t tell me Trish has been treating one of his patients and he didn’t like because she doesn’t have a licence to practice just yet.”

“In a nutshell, yes.”

“So are you going home to confiscate her little doctor set or her chemistry one?”

“Neither, her computer and her phone. Right, thanks for the cuppa, let’s get back to work and we might have the back of it broken by lunch time.”

“Oh, Professor Agnew told you to be ready for lunch at twelve thirty.”

“Oh did he now?”

“Did you want me to cancel?”

“Better not he’s the dean.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.”

“I’ll introduce you when he comes to claim his pound of flesh.”

“Really?”

“Don’t look so worried, he’s my adopted father but he does tend to pull rank on me in work. I get my own back at home.”

“I’m sorry, I thought you were married?”

“I am, we all live with Tom Agnew—it’s a big old house which we made even bigger a couple or so years ago. This is his chair really, I’m only keeping it warm until he gets fed up playing dean. Then he can have it back and I can go back to my dormice and return to oblivion.”

“I thought you were looking to make a film on pine martens or wild cats? Hardly oblivion?”

“I was speaking metaphorically—you know be seen to make films and your academic career loses credibility.”

“Doesn’t seem to have affected Professor Cox and Bettany Hughes.”

“She’s doesn’t do a full time job with a university, and he’s got a brain bigger than a small planet.”

“They haven’t disappeared into oblivion though, have they?”

“Okay, so I was wrong or lying—sue me...”

“He’ll be by for twelve thirty, your dad the dean,” she smirked and shut the door moments before I flung a book at it. “Missed,” was called through the door.

“I won’t next time,” I shouted back.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2739 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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When I went to collect the girls they were all waiting for me except Trish. On noticing this, I enquired where she was. “She’s in detention,” offered Livvie.

“Oh, what has she done?”

“She was checking a text on her phone in a maths lesson and had her phone confiscated. She argued about it with Sister Theresa and was put in detention.”

“I suppose she’ll do her homework while she’s in there.”

“No, Mummy, you have to sit and stare at a wall.”

“Why, wossit gonna do?” asked Danielle.

“Can we go home now, Mummy?” asked Mima.

“How much longer is she going to be?”

“About twenty minutes, Mummy,” Livvie checked her watch.

“How about we pop and get a milkshake while we wait?” Silly question really, a bit like asking the denomination of the pontiff. The advantage of this place was simply being close to the school, otherwise I wouldn’t enter the place, real greasy spoon establishment. But they enjoyed their milkshakes and we were back two minutes before Trish arrived.

“Ah, here’s the master criminal,” I declared.

“Ha, it was your fault for sending me a text, in the first place.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well it was, if you hadn’t sent me the text I wouldn’ta been caught and stuck in detention.”

“I heard it was for arguing with the teacher.”

“Well with her you have to, she’s a real cretin.”

“She’s still your teacher and you need to respect that fact.”

“I know more about maths than she does. ‘Once one is one, twice one is two,’ she chanted in a silly voice and Livvie giggled.

“Come on, Moriarty, let’s get home.”

Once at home I took Trish into my study and explained about the call from Dr Rose. “What’s he complaining for? I’m saving him and Dr Stephanie loads a dosh.”

“It isn’t about money, Trish, it’s about you over reaching yourself.”

She raised her arm in the air, “I’m not overreaching, am I?”

“Stop trying to confuse me. I didn’t mean it literally...”

“So why say it then?”

“Because I did, that’s why. Dr Rose has asked me to tell you to stop advising what stuff Charlotte should take to become more girly, and stop encouraging her to transition. It’s none of our business.”

“But she asked me for help, Mummy.”

“I don’t care what she asked you do what I tell you—got that, missy?”

“’S not fair,” she pouted, but then it never is with Trish.

“And you can tell Livvie as well.”

“How d’you know Livvie was helping me?”

“Because I believe she was, wasn’t she?”

“’S not fair,” she grumbled stomping out of my room.

A little later I bumped into Livvie and asked her if Trish had said anything. “Oh yes, Mummy, she talks all the time, especially in school, it’s only because some of the teachers are frightened of her that she doesn’t get into more trouble.”

“The teachers are frightened of her?”

“Well she’s such a brainiac, if they upset her she keeps telling they’ve got their facts wrong and she then tells them what the right answer is.”

“I wonder if she realises that if she really upsets the teachers, the school will expel her and she’d have to go to a council school.”

“Like Danni used to go to?”

“Very possibly that same one.”

“She wouldn’t like that.”

“I don’t suppose she would.”

“Couldn’t you home school her like you did with Danielle?”

“That is very expensive and why should I spend even more money just for her to misbehave?”

“They wouldn’t make her be a boy again, would they?”

“No, but some of the girl’s schools can be quite rough too; some possibly worse than the boys. Ask Hannah if you don’t believe me.”

“Uh, no thanks, Hannah’s old school was horrid.”

I shrugged and let the grapevine do its work for me. I’d just finished a phone call when Trish burst into my room, “Don’t let them send me to Hannah’s old school, please, Mummy.”

“It won’t be up to me.”

“Why, you’re my mother?”

“Yes and I do my bit by sending you to school every day you’re supposed to be there. If the school I used to pay for expels you, you’ll have to go where they can fit you in and that could well be Hannah’s old one.”

“But you mustn’t let them send me there.”

“It isn’t up to me, Trish, it’s up to you, yourself?”

“Don’t be silly, Mummy, how can it be up to me?”

“For the simple fact if you were less arrogant in class there’d be less chance of them expelling you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she said haughtily.

“Exactly what you just said and did then. You’re at times a very lovely young woman whilst at others you’re a veritable pain in the neck. It’s only you who’ll spoil it for yourself, thinking you always know better than your elders.”

“I do most of the time...”

“See, you can’t seem to keep your stupid mouth closed.”

“But they are pretty stupid much of the time...”

“Don’t care, carry on like that and you’ll be expelled for being unmanageable. Once you get a reputation for that you’ll always be in trouble.”

“But that’s not fair,” she protested.

“Life isn’t, if it was there wouldn’t be fifty thousand migrants trying to get to England from France for a better life. You have to realise that your arrogance, being a bighead and pointing out people’s mistakes, especially in public is just going to get you thoroughly disliked. You’ll have no friends either, other girls don’t like bigheads.”

“But I’m not a bighead, I just don’t like to see people make mistakes.”

“You make them, so why can’t other people be allowed to?”

“You won’t send me to a council school, will you?”

“I went to one.”

“Is that why you used to get beaten up?”

“Partly.”

“I don’t wanna get beaten up.”

“I told you, if you behave yourself it won’t happen. I also want you to stop contacting Charlotte Murchison, let her mother and the doctors sort her out, all right?”

“Okay—does she go to a council school?”

“I don’t know.”

“What if she contacts me?”

“Just ignore it.”

“But that’s rude, Mummy.”

“Tell her you can’t help at the moment, you’re too busy.”

“But that’s a lie, Mummy.”

“Would you rather tell her the truth that she’s a no hoper who has no chance of ever looking like a girl.”

“Um—she could, Mummy, if only she’d...”

“Don’t you ever learn?”

“Oh—yeah, sozzz.” She skedaddled before I confiscated her legs. I felt exhausted. Why are so many intelligent people so dumb? She presumably has a very straightforward map of the universe and sees no wrong in what she does because she’s ten years old. Sadly it’s so easy to forget that fact which is fundamental to how her mind works. She’s still a baby really and I so often forget.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2740 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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Tom came by for me at the appointed time and we went in my car to his usual venue where he ate his usual fare and I had my tuna jacket with some cranberry juice—the drink was separate and in a glass—honestly.

I told him about Sam Rose’s call and what Trish had been up to. “She’s a real character, that lassie.”

“She just doesn’t see consequences.”

“Och, she’s barely moor than a bairn, whit d’ye expect?”

“When she’s involved I expect almost anything and often the worst case scenario. She runs rings around her peers, her teachers and me. What she’ll be like as a teenager, I hate to think.”

“Whit were ye like as a teenager?”

“A mass of contradictions and complexes. I’m honestly surprised that I survived my adolescence.”

We waited while the food was brought. “It soonds as if ye’d a perfectly normal youth.”

“Oh come off it, I spent half my life trying to avoid being beaten up by the school bullies or my father.”

“Aye, that wis unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate, I’m lucky all my organs still function and I didn’t lose any limbs.”

“Aye but it taught you a great deal.”

“Yeah, if I stayed in swotting all the time I didn’t get hurt.”

“Ye also got a first.”

“Only because there wasn’t much else to do, especially when I went away to Sussex. I wonder what would have happened if I’d started the process of transition there.”

“None o’ this wud hae happened.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Ye widnae hae got a first, for sterters.”

“How can you know that?”

“Ye’d hae spent all yer time an’ money on yer transition, an’ ye’d hae been in great demand.”

“We might still have met though, with Esmond Herbert writing to you.”

“Aye, but wud he? He wrote because he wis worrit aboot ye. He also thocht ye were tae best student o’ that year.”

“He has good taste,” I beamed at him.

“Aye that he may, his academic judgement wis no sae clever though, wis it?”

“If that was the case how come you got me to organise the survey for you and got the university to appoint me in your absence?”

“Because ye dae whit I telt ye.”

“I beg your pardon,” it was at this point I saw his eyes twinkling and I knew I’d been had again, He chuckled loudly and then nearly choked on some of his curry—serve him right—the old curmudgeon.

“What d’you think I should say to Trish?”

“Explain tae her aboot unregulated drugs an’ herbal preparations an’ Sam Rose’s disquiet. Ye micht also try tae explain aboot not encouraging people tae dae things afore they’re deemed ready by an expert.”

“Perhaps I’ll just refer her on to you, you seem to have all the answers.”

“Oh na ye dinnae, I’m no her maither, that’s yer job, it’s part o’ the privilege o’ parenthood.”

“There’s me thinking it was one of the privileges of being a grandparent.”

“Och, ye scunner.” He paid the bill so I didn’t make him walk back to the university.

The afternoon was just as busy as the morning with two conference calls about the survey and a tutorial with one of my post grad students who is very hard work. It’s so difficult to get any conversation out of him, even when I ask for an update on his research. He’s doing a project about density of muscadinus populations compared to densities of oak an sycamore respectively. Personally, I doubt there’ll be a huge difference, but I’ve been wrong before.

Diane had to interrupt for some files which are kept in my office and she could see me struggling. Afterwards she said, “Have you thought of getting Graham to tell Trish about his project?”

“The point of which would be?”

“Cathy, he’s terrified of you.”

“Of meeee?” I squeaked.

“Yes, let’s face it you’re sophisticated, rich and beautiful—he’s scared to death of you. It’s like sitting next to a goddess.”

I roared with laughter but she didn’t join me. “You’re taking the piss, right?”

“No, I’m deadly serious. People were scared of you when you were a kid because you were clever and dressing as a boy freaked them out somewhat. So glad you stopped doing that. Get this Trish of yours in and get her to spin some yarn about doing a project on trees, get him to explain his research to her and see what happens.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“When I was at UWE we had a reader there who was supervising a master’s student and he was terrified of her, until she heard him talking about what he was doing to her secretary, someone he wasn’t intimidated by—she only had a bachelor of arts degree in graphic design.”

“So you helped supervise him then?”

“Only until he gained some confidence, then they got on without me.”

“So why aren’t you offering to help me with Graham?”

“In Bristol, the reader was fifty odd but very potently sexy with it. She tended to flirt with all the men which was mad because she was gay. However they seemed to find her alluring and fascinating and she used that for all she was worth. It didn’t however work with this one chap, he was overwhelmed until he got used to her.”

“Helped by you.”

She shrugged, “I try to help when I can.”

“If you want to look at the brochures we have with a view to improving them, given your expertise in design, feel free.”

“If I have time, at present I’m running to stand still, so much to learn about looking after you and the others.”

“It was just a suggestion.”

“For which thank you.”

“I like to use my education—only for doing the Guardian crossword—you understand.”

“Perfectly.”

“I’ll speak to Trish’s headmistress, see if I can get an hour or so off school for her to speak to Graham.”

I went to collect the girls soon afterwards speaking quickly with Sister Maria who thought it was a wonderful idea. Once at home I told her about what I wanted her to do regarding Graham.

“Why have I got to talk to him?”

“You haven’t, I’ll ask Livvie, she’s next on my list.”

“I’ll do it, just wondered why, that’s all.”

“He’s nervous of me.” She thought that was hilarious and took several moments to stop laughing.

“You’re serious, Mummy.”

“Yes. Look, he’s a post graduate student with a reasonable 2:1...”

“He’s not as clever as you though, is he?”

“It isn’t about cleverness, it’s about helping fulfil his potential. He thinks I’m cleverer than he is and it makes him nervous. Because you’re younger than he is, he’ll probably feel more confident with you—so I don’t want you wittering on about Quantum mechanics and unified field theory—okay?”

“Okay, just orbital resonance,” she giggled and I glowered at her which made her worse. Meanwhile, Diane phoned Graham and asked if he could help a young student with a project about trees. He was reluctant but she cajoled him into it and forgot to mention it was my daughter who wanted his help.

I’m beginning to appreciate how he feels in being outgunned by someone, in my case it could be my secretary.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2741 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 can’t believe I’m doing this, in the room just up from my office I have my secretary supervising my daughter who is pretending to be doing a project on trees being taught by a student of mine who freezes whenever I have him in for a tutorial. According to Diane they’re both doing really well and brainbox is apparently drawing him out quite well by asking intelligent questions. They’re scheduled to be an hour, I’ll gatecrash after forty minutes or so. I have a couple of letters to do before then, one of which is to the Rev Pilbeam, who is a complete lunatic.

He claims to have harvest mice living in his loft because they’re eating his wiring and leaving lots of grain about. I got someone from his local university to visit but alas the old duffer was out for the day but his wife let my colleague into the house and he went up into the attic to see what was happening.

A bit of background: the reverend gentleman is about a hundred and fifty and writes to me quite regularly with outlandish sightings. One of these days I expect to get a confirmed sighting of the tooth fairy or Father Christmas. He’s always seeing big cats in or near his garden, of the lion and tiger varieties, he sends me photographs which are useless, they’re blurred or out of focus and could be anything.

I got a report from my colleague and it turns out he has something up in his attic—an edible dormouse. He resides near Tring which is where they escaped from Baron Rothschild’s collection and appear to have spread slightly in recent years. He hasn’t yet managed to catch the intruder but saw it dash off into the cavity wall. He’s left some baited traps so may yet catch it. I’m not quite sure what you do with a species like Glis glis because being an alien, they may not be released into the wild in this country, at the same time I don’t think you can kill them.

The edible dormouse is larger by some amount than the hazel dormouse and will readily spread into homes and gardens, where like many rodents it does damage to anything it can chew upon. Rodents have continually growing front teeth and need to chew on things to keep them down. What it is they chew on seems quite arbitrary and electrical cables are quite attractive for some reason. The outcome can be fatal if the animal chews on live wires and sadly it might not just be the sad rodent who is a victim—damaged wiring can get hot and spontaneously ignite, thereby burning down someone’s house or badly damaging one. I spoke to dozens of fire brigades a couple of years ago and discovered such misfortunes happen in one or two houses in this country at this current time.

For two weeks after all this happened we had all sorts of weirdo asking for advice about the widespread problem of global domination by these little animals. We’re not allowed to say or do anything which might constitute advice—we could be sued if anything went wrong, not to mention someone getting hurt.

Anyway, I’ve written to the old looney suggesting he may have bats in the belfry and edible dormeece in his attic. My colleague was going back tomorrow to see if he’d caught anything. By the time they get this they should have been back and confirmed what they believe is inhabiting his loft and eating his cables.

It’s okay for me to laugh at him because it’s not my house they’re trashing. However, the old fool has been writing to me ever since we started the survey three years ago. Goodness has it been that long—yes it has and some days feels like very much longer.

Trish had been playing with Graham’s brains for about forty five minutes when I decided to intervene and see what had been happening. Diane seemed to think they were both doing well. I have to take Trish back to school but we need to have both of them evaluate how they felt it went this morning. The school were happy for her to have an hour off because for her homework she has to write a report on what she felt had happened.

We’d filmed a short sequence to show both of them what actually happened and it demonstrated that Graham could explain things in some detail. It showed he understood the mechanisms in play and the theory. So why wasn’t he able to tell me? He was too nervous and now we’d been able to demonstrate he could, he’d have no excuse for not doing so.

Trish showed she could ask intelligent questions even for something that didn’t exist such as her supposed project. Graham was much taken with her and the fact that she fooled him completely. Once he realised who she was, viz my daughter, I allowed her to talk to him about quantum. He stayed with her for about five minutes before she elaborated into the realms of particle physics and lost everybody.

Did I tell you she wrote to Professor Brian Cox saying she admired his programmes but that the following matter had puzzled her. She then explained what her problem was and said who she was, including my daughter. He wrote back pointing out where she’d made a slight mistake and hoped once she resolved that it should make sense. He didn’t patronise her and she read his response with great enthusiasm telling everyone what a nice man he was.

She had made a small error and once she saw it she managed to complete her calculation. I had no idea what either of them were on about. When he realised she was my daughter he said he’d enjoyed both my films—what a nice man.

The upshot is that she’s now thinking about applying to Manchester instead of Oxford, to read particle physics under a certain Professor Brian Cox. Mind you, by next week she’ll be wanting to do something else. This changing of minds in children is of course why it’s so difficult to treat transgender children, because this week they’ll convince you they want to be one thing and the next they want to be something else—and one of the reasons I didn’t want to become too involved with Charlotte and her mother.

My transgender children haven’t had much chance to change their minds because their bodies got switched before they would normally have been allowed to do so for reasons beyond their control, with Trish and Danielle being especially sudden and dramatic. Fortunately, so far they seem to have had positive outcomes. I’m still concerned about the long term effects on Danielle, but while she has an England cap as an ambition, she seems relatively happy in her new role. Trish, well she’s just Trish and I’ve never seen her as Patrick except for that short period when she banged her head on the apple tree and suffered amnesia.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2742 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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Graham had agreed that there was nothing about me that was frightening, unless it was my clothing bill. He consented that next time he came for a tutorial he’d be less nervous and try harder to give me the feedback I needed to continue his funding by validating his interim reports. His sponsors needed my feedback on his efforts to make the payments of his sponsorship. Fortunately, I was able to piece together enough of a report up to now to keep them happy, but I felt cross that Graham was taking too much of my time, made worse by his apparent casualness. Hopefully, that was all improving—I hoped.

I listened to Trish as she sat and wrote what she had experienced. It felt quite surreal listening to it from her point of view and I had to help her articulate some of her thoughts and feelings. On the whole she found the whole experience interesting and positive. She also said she’d do any tutorials for me where my students found me frightening. One of these days I’ll skelp her lug, the wee scunner.

“D’you really think Graham was frightened of me?”

She paused for a moment obviously thinking carefully before she answered, all the time wearing an uncertain expression. “I don’t think he was scared of you, Mummy; he was frightened of saying something stupid to you because he likes you a lot and wants you to like him back.”

That sounded like some sort of sexual subtext but if like is substituted with respect, the subtexts disappear. He was in awe of me because I was very successful at what I did. He seemed to think everything I did was just perfect. Naturally I knew differently, I was well aware of my own shortcomings. I was also well aware that he followed me round like a puppy dog and had to be very sure that I gave him no ambiguity of verbal or non-verbal interactions. It might be flattering to have a younger man desirous of you, but it’s also very wearing. I hoped that showing him one of my children, it would remind him that I’m a happily married woman.

Because I had this almost goddess like status in Graham’s eyes, which caused him to be tongue tied in my presence, he had a very strange perspective in his view of me. Even if I accept that I’m reasonably good looking, I think he shouldn’t feel sexually attracted to me because he knows I’m happily married and I give him no encouragement whatsoever.

The next morning I had a post mortem of our subterfuge with my co conspirator, Diane. On asking how she thought it had gone, she said, “I hadn’t appreciated that he had it as badly as he does, he practically worships the ground you walk on.”

“I did try to suggest this was the case, but didn’t think you’d believe me.”

“Why ever not?”

“I’m not sure, vanity perhaps.”

“I wouldn’t have said that vanity was one of your major weaknesses, unless it was intellectual—then having seen your daughter in action—I think you’re quite grounded.”

Trish certainly gives new meaning to the word clever, but as Julie has previously pointed out, being intellectually clever doesn’t necessarily mean one is superior because very clever people often overlook the basic stuff which can then trip them up. Clever people aren’t necessarily emotionally very clever or even mature and they’re frequently unpractical. They could tell you the force required to knock a nail into a piece of wood but might have difficulty working out which end of the hammer to hold.

Julie was very practically minded and also quite clever, but not in an academic sense so Trish sets her traps every time the poor kid tries to do anything for or with her, Julie then usually obliges by walking into them. However, just occasionally the boot is on the other foot and Trish is on the receiving end. The two of them have become better at taking the fall, it used to really annoy the older girl but providing Trish does it without malice they usually laugh.

“How can someone be in such thrall to another person?”

“I don’t know, presumably it’s a combination of admiration, respect and ambition coupled with an element of sexual attraction that he knows is beyond him. You’re out of his class but it doesn’t stop him wanting you.”

“Why does that always have to rear its ugly head?”

“One of the potential problems when working with mixed sex teams or groups. Men and women fancy each other.”

“But I don’t fancy him.”

“He’s quite good looking.”

“Diane, I am happily married and intend to stay that way. I don’t fancy him one bit and I don’t need any extra marital action, I can barely cope with Simon’s demands at times.”

“Perhaps you need to tell him straight.”

“But if I do that implies I’ve noticed his attentions, perhaps I should pass him over to Kieran.” This was one of my teaching team, recently promoted to reader in zoology but a specialist in entomology rather than dormeece and Graham was running a project in dormouse ecology—my subject. It was also something that I was needing to use his research in for my latest paper. It’s a year since I’ve published much other than the survey and my study on the importance of Sycamore trees to dormouse colonies had been several years in gestation—it was basically just needing his data to complete, to support my earlier discussions.

“I didn’t think Kieran was into furry things unless they’re eating his insects.”

“Dormice do to some extent.”

“I thought they ate nuts and acorns.”

“Berries, other fruits, flowers, insects and anything else small enough for them to catch. They can’t however eat anything that requires digesting cellulose, so leaves and things are out.”

“I remember that from your film, I forgot the bit about insects.”

“Mainly stuff like moth caterpillars, easy to catch and eat except the hairy ones with irritant hairs. Only cuckoos like them.”

“Cuckoos?”

“Yeah, you know iconic messenger of spring—disappearing from England but doing quite well in Scotland and Ireland.”

“Haven’t heard one for yonks.”

“They are becoming scarcer, something to do with different populations using different migratory routes, anyway, they can eat even large hairy caterpillars which they turn inside out to presumably prevent eating the irritating hairs. Some of the thrush family do the same with slugs to avoid all the slime, blackbirds if they’re into to slugs turn them inside out and not eat the tougher skin.”

“Ugh, fancy eating hairy caterpillars or slugs. I was going to suggest a cuppa but not sure I fancy one now.” Diane made a face and wiggled her fingers to emphasise her disgust at such fodder.

“No but I do,” I beamed at her and she scowled before vacating her desk to put the kettle on. While she was out I thought that I needed to take some action about Graham but not sure exactly what. Sometimes there are drawbacks to being attractive or seemingly so.

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.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2744 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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When I got to the school, Trish told me the headmistress wanted to see me. Hoping I wasn’t going to be suckered into anything else, I went along feeling quite apprehensive. “Sister Maria,” I said as she opened her office door and I caught a glimpse of Danni with the others.

“Lady Catherine, perhaps we could take a little walk a moment.”

“What’s happened?”

“It’s complicated.”

“But it involves one or more of my children?”

“Yes.”

“Please don’t beat about the bush, just tell me.”

“Okay, we had the press here looking for the boy who plays for England schoolgirls.”

I felt like I’d just stepped over a hole in the ground and fallen down it. “Danni?”

“We suspect one of girl’s brothers recognised her from her previous incarnation.”

“Who was the journalist—local?”

“No, a national tabloid.”

“She’s a minor so revelation of any details would be seen as against the law, but they have other ways of allowing people to find out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why is it even newsworthy? The rules are that any person who has had surgery or hormones for more than a year is eligible to play their sport in their chosen gender as they’re not seen as having any physical advantage—at least that’s the gist of it. So she’s not been doing anything illegal. The club know it, the FA know it, so what’s the problem?”

“It is somewhat unusual, you have to admit that.”

“So what? The girl has a natural talent at soccer and at the next women’s world cup I want to see her help England win it.”

“That would be wonderful.”

“Unless scumbags like this tabloid sleaze bag make her life so uncomfortable that she stops playing. Remember she didn’t choose to become female it sort of got chosen for her.”

“A little like the rest of us eh, Lady Cameron?”

“Indeed,” well I didn’t choose to be female, I was born that way, it just took a little longer to make it official than most women.

“I might have to keep her home for a few days until this blows over. The school is still happy to have my children here?”

“You have to ask?”

“Yes, I don’t know how rough this is going to get.”

“I think I speak for the school when I say you have our total support. If I don’t, they’re going to need a new headmistress, plus I suspect a certain bank will find a reason to stop supporting the hardship fund.”

“Thank you, Maria, it’s much appreciated.”

“You and your family have done so much to help this school and me personally that it’s only fair we reciprocate. As for me, I like you and all your girls even if they pose different challenges, plus we have the best school soccer team in the girl’s league and that’s all due to two of your girls.”

“I might send her up to her grandparents for a few days.”

“You must do what you think is best.”

“I’ll try and speak with Henry see what he can do to squash it.”

“I’ve prepared a statement from the school saying that we are fully in support of all our students and encourage them to participate in sport and other activities at the highest level they are able.”

“Thanks, I’d best go and see the girls, especially Danielle.”

As I expected she was very upset asking why she was being treated like a criminal when she’d done nothing wrong. I knew the feeling but seemed unable to comfort her. I brought the car into the school grounds and watched while all the girls got in. As far as I could tell no one was watching.

Sister Maria apparently went round every class and spoke with the girls asking them for their support as one of their colleagues was under threat by unscrupulous journalists and she had done nothing wrong or illegal except resolve a birth defect. Every girl agreed to help by saying nothing to anyone outside the school.

Some of the girls had worked out what was going on and even guessed who it was but they all promised to keep quiet. I was most impressed by the degree of loyalty amongst the students—mind you no one had been offered money yet. Sister Maria pre-empted that as well by suggesting anyone who was found to have taken money for information given would be suspended and probably expelled for failing to meet the moral standards expected of the school. If their parents entered into any deal with the media, the children would still be asked to leave. It was heavy stuff.

We got home via a circuitous route to make sure we weren’t followed. I left a message for Jason to call me back. I did the same with Henry. I just hoped that everyone in an editorial capacity realised it wasn’t good policy to mess with the Camerons.

At the same time as all this preparation was going on, part of me felt like telling the world what they wanted to know and asking what was all the fuss about, then asking what they’d do if it was their daughter who was involved. Of course bigots and hypocrites always take the moral high ground even though their personal behaviour tends to suggest they’re not even fit to live in a cess pit. Unfortunately, we’re all capable of doing it at times but some make it a way of life.

Look at all this fuss about same sex marriage and how the religious bigots make so much fuss. What business is it of anyone else but the two people seeking to marry and their family and friends to a lesser extent. This woman in the States who’s been in prison for refusing to sign marriage licences, she’s a total humbug. She claims it offends her religious beliefs—she’s been married several times—shouldn’t that offend her religion as well, or is it only other people who require judgement. If ever she meets her god, an albeit unlikely scenario, but if it happens I suspect she might get something of a surprise and it won’t be a pleasant one. It’s absurd but she’s an elected officer of the local administration and can’t be sacked very easily. Perhaps someone needs to call for an election.

I went see Danielle who was sitting on her bed with rings of mascara round her reddened eyes where she’d been crying. I told her to go and wash.

“What for?”

“Because you look a mess.”

“I feel a mess.”

“Like it or not, you are one of my daughters and we Cameron women try to look a cut above the ordinary because we are.”

She laughed at me, “Have you heard yourself? I’m not even a fucking woman, am I?”

“You are, so you’d better shape up.”

“I didn’t ask to be one, did I unlike the rest of you?”

“Danielle, none of us asked to be female and certainly none of us asked to follow the path some of us had to. Even the NHS website suggests it’s biological probably arising in the womb or early childhood. So none of us had a choice did we?”

“Okay, I’ll wash my face.” She stood up and went to go to the bathroom where she paused, “Thanks for being there, Mummy—an’ I’m glad I’m your daughter.”

I hugged her and said quietly, “We’re going to get through this, I promise.”

“Will I have to give up my soccer?”

“Not if I can help it.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2745 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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Henry called back after dinner, not that I was very hungry and even Danielle only ate half as much as usual. I explained the situation and he asked if I’d spoken to Jason. I said I’d left a message for him.

“He’s been involved in some pretty big case, but I’m sure he’ll help as soon as he can.”

“It’s really dragging Danielle down, she’s supposed to go to training tomorrow, you can bet your bottom dollar the place will be staked out or have hidden cameras.”

“You could always go public?”

“This is a child we’re talking about, what happened to the laws of protection of minors from such disclosure?”

“It was just a thought.”

“Well here’s another, if I find out who blew the whistle, I’m going to take steps to shorten their life to seconds.”

“What about those who buy such papers, aren’t they as bad?”

“Worse, they sit on their spotty behinds playing with themselves while reading the guff they put in tabloids.”

“It makes them feel superior.”

“Superior? As in lakes, or just festering cess pits.”

“Does it matter?”

“It does to me—why do people have to be so horrible all the time?” I was so close to tears, Danni was right, we’ve done nothing wrong but are treated like criminals.

“It seems to be a requirement of being human, alongside, greed, lust, bigotry and general nastiness.”

“And there was me thinking it was just me...”

He chuckled, “Just you, my darling girl. You’re practically angelic by even the lowest standards of such measurements.”

“You flatter me kind sir.”

“No, I make an exception for you, favourite daughter in law.”

“You have others?”

“Hush, let it be our guilty secret.”

“What about Danni?”

“It so happens I’m at the House tomorrow.”

“So how will that help?”

“I’ll speak to someone in the Home Office or Justice Department.”

“What from home?”

“No, you silly goose, the House of Lords.”

“Ah, that house?”

“Yes, where else could I mean?”

“Seeing as you have half a dozen homes, anyone of them.”

“Okay, point taken. I’ll see if I can get the newspaper in question a little visit from a senior civil servant asking awkward questions about safeguarding children, or that sort of thing, usually works a treat. They suddenly remember they have consciences then go and get them removed the next week.”

“What do I need to do in the interim?”

“Be your wonderful self and hang in there, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“Thanks, Henry, you’re such a comfort.”

“Oh, my heart is going pitter patter.”

“I thought it had stopped when they swapped it for a stone one?”

“Hush, don’t tell everyone.”

“Good bye father in law and thank you.”

“Ditch the dumplin’ and...”

“Bye, Henry...” I put the phone back on its cradle.

Simon was sitting with Danielle on his lap, she appeared to be fast asleep with her head resting on his broad shoulder. I made a T sign with my hands and he gave me a thumbs up sign in return. I went off to make the life saving beverages.

We sipped our teas, Danielle still sleeping on his lap and oblivious to our activity. “Why me?” he mimed at me.

“Because we feel safe in your arms.”

“Oh—oh okay,” he shrugged and the movement woke her up.

She yawned and went to snuggled down onto his capacious chest and tummy. “Why don’t you go up to bed, sweetheart?” I said taking hold of her arm and gently easing her up.

“Yeah, yeah okay,” she mumbled and swayed as she stood up.

“Say night night to Daddy.”

“Night, Daddy,” she said in almost a trance.

“Night, poppet,” he said back gently.

“C’mon, darling, up to bed,” I led her up the stairs, watched while she cleaned her teeth, had a wee and crawled into bed. I tucked her in and kissed her goodnight.

“Night, Mummy, love you,” she said almost drifting back to sleep.

“I love you too, sweetheart, sleep well.” I watched her for a few minutes as she slipped into the realms of sleep. I made her a silent promise to help her as much as I could, then slipped back down to Simon who was snoozing on the sofa. “She’s gone off to sleep,” I said louder than I needed to.

“What?” he sat up collected whatever wits he could find and looked at me. “What?”

“Danielle, I just took her up to bed if you remember?”

“Yeah, so?”

“She went straight off to sleep.”

“Oh good, think I’m gonna call it a day as well, babes. You coming up?”

“Just want to check my emails in case Jason has sent us one.”

“Yeah, okay. I’m bushed,” he said walking to the stairs and disappearing up them as I went to my study.

I checked my emails, there was nothing that wouldn’t wait a day or two. I also checked some websites to see if anything was in the wings, seemed there was nothing. I sent an email to the senior coach at the football club asking for an urgent meeting with him. Astonishingly, I got one back suggesting he thought he knew what it might be about and could I do ten, tomorrow. I wrote back confirming it. I would move on up the scale as I could, speaking to the England coaches after talking with him and hopefully getting his advice. This can’t be a unique event, if the figures being suggested of numbers of transgender children were even half correct, there must be thousands who play sport as the opposite biological gender.

Having done all that I went to bed not expecting to sleep very well but exhaustion played its part and I zonked quite quickly, waking at seven to discover Danielle curled up alongside me.

“Hello, sweetheart,” I said as I sensed her waking.

“Hi, Mummy, Dad suggested I come and keep you company after he went to work.”

“That was nice of you?”

“Yeah,” she yawned, “That’s me.”

“So modest with it, as well.”

“What me? Nah, if you’ve got it flaunt it.”

“Quite.”

“What am I going to do, Mummy,” she said sniffing back the tears.

“You are staying home today, I’ll get the school to email you some work.”

“Aw thanks,” she grumbled.

“While you’re doing it I’m going to see the chief coach of your football team.”

“Oh, what for?”

“What d’you think it’s about?”

“Thanks, Mummy.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2746 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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At a few minutes before ten, I parked my car and entered the reception of the football club at Fratton Park. I explained who I was there to see and who I was. The woman behind the desk made a phone call and two minutes later escorted me down a corridor where she knocked on a door and let me in.

“Ah, Mrs Cameron—coffee?”

I nodded. “White please.”

He picked up the phone, two white coffees please, Sharon.”

We made small talk until she appeared with the tray of coffees. “I believe there’s someone sniffing around Danielle, claiming she’s a boy.”

“Not according to her birth certificate.”

“Look, I know her history because we discussed it when she got the England call up. We passed that on to the FA who swallowed hard and I suspect helped by your lawyer fellow, convinced them she was eligible to play as a female within the rules set up by the court for arbitration for sport. The FA are signatories of an equality and diversity protocol, as are we. She is a very talented young woman and I want her to continue training and playing for us and England, it would be a shame if she were to stop because some arsehole from a tabloid raised a storm.”

“If he does I’ll see he goes to prison for contempt of court. She’s a minor, he is not allowed to reveal her name or any other identifying feature. I have my lawyer seeking an injunction against the paper on the grounds of her being a child.”

“He’ll get no help from us, I’ve spoken to all the other girls and they think it’s a crying shame they can’t leave her alone to get on with her life.”

“We all think the same. Just because someone is different doesn’t give the press the right to hound them to death, like that teacher a few years ago—committed suicide thanks to a lout who works for the Daily Mail wrote about her and stirred up a brouhaha and involved the local bigots to hound her from her job.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know about that one—seems a bit pointless after this Caitlyn character in the States, no big news story any more is it?”

“I never understood its newsworthiness in the first place.”

“You’re too young, but years ago it was something of a novelty but nowadays, it’s hardly that is it? And with articles in the papers or on telly, it seems being ordinary is unusual nowadays.”

“Ah but is anyone ordinary? We all have our foibles and differences, it’s what makes us interesting.”

“True, so what makes you interesting apart from having a trans daughter?”

“I like studying wild animals and showing them to the general public so they can see and share the magic too.”

“You make films don’t you—of course, the dormouse lady.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you teach at the university as well?”

“At the present, I teach very little unfortunately, I’m trying to keep the mammal survey and the rest of the department going.”

“You run the department?”

“It’s usually what professors do.”

He actually blushed, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you were a professor—but it kind of makes sense, most of the people making programmes are—there’s that astronomer bloke, always on when they talk about Higgs bosun.”

“Brian Cox, is a particle physicist.”

“That’s him, like a rock star.”

“He used to play in a rock band—did keyboards, I believe.”

“So he did, then that bloke from Queen who wants to save badgers.”

“Brian May, he’s an astrophysicist.”

“And you’re a dormousologist?” He laughed at his own joke.

“I’m professor of biological sciences, which includes biology, microbiology, marine biology, ecology, zoology, botany, mycology and so on.”

“So is Danielle going to follow in her mother’s footsteps?”

“She’s mentioned she wants to teach but her first love is football.”

“You don’t play then?”

“No, too little coordination, I’ll stick to bicycles for my exercise.”

“You ride?”

“Not competitively these days, too busy to keep fit.”

“What about Mr Cameron, does he ride?”

“Simon, not very often, too busy, though he used to play rugby and cricket at university.”

“You’re married to Simon Cameron—the banker?”

“Yes—it’s no secret.”

“So you’re actually, Lady Cameron?”

“Yes, but I’m here as Danielle’s mother not in any other capacity, so doctor, professor or Lady are somewhat irrelevant.”

“Except you have some very powerful friends.”

“Yes.”

“Does this guy know what he’s messing with?”

My phone peeped and I glanced at it. “He does now, or his editor does—that was my barrister, he’s got an injunction. Now all I want to know is his source.”

“Oh, you didn’t strike me as a vindictive sort.”

“Somebody has tried to sell my daughter’s life for money—I intend to make them see the error of their ways by hitting the thing they most want—money.”

“Maybe they were stuck for it—money, I mean.”

“I don’t care, you don’t go threatening the happiness of a child to make money. It’s immoral and illegal. I shall make sure they understand.”

“You won’t get a reporter to reveal his sources.”

“In which case he can suffer instead—I don’t care, but if he ends up with more than his underwear, my people won’t have worked hard enough. As he’s a shit, I’m going to show my displeasure.”

“Boy, you can be vindictive.”

“No, it isn’t vindictiveness, it’s showing these bastards that they can’t go round doing what they like ruining other people’s lives because they can—if they do, I’ll show them there are others who have the same powers only in much greater supply.”

“You’re going to ruin these people?”

“I’m going to protect my own with whatever it takes. You said you wanted Danielle to keep playing football because she has such a talent she should share it. I’m trying to make sure she’s able to do just that now and in the future. If I don’t, the next time she score hat tricks for England or your team, the rats will emerge from their holes to try and profit by exposing her irrelevant history. If I do some pest control now, it might make the others think twice.”

“Aren’t you being as bad as them?”

“Oh much worse, they’re only trying to make money—I’m trying to teach the media a lesson.”

“What if they turn on you?”

“I’m big enough to take care of myself.”

“And you have powerful friends?”

“Quite.”

“I hope I shall be one of them, I’ve arranged a meeting with someone from the FA tomorrow to persuade them that they should continue to call up Danielle for her talent—she’s got so much.”

“If they’d played her in their world cup squad, they’d have won.”

“Possibly, they said she was too young to cope at that level—but next time...”

“Who knows where any of us will be in four years, including Danielle. Though I hope university will feature in her plans.”

“I’ll try and encourage her.”

“Thank you. I must go and see if the school has sent her some work via the internet. I’m keeping her home until this dies down.”

I left the football stadium thinking that he must have thought I was as bad as the creeps who threaten my children. I’m not, I’m far worse. They want money, I want them unable to do it to anyone else. I called James on the way home, I wanted some names and he was the man to get them.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2747 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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“How can I settle to do this while that maniac is out there, Mummy?”

“If he’s still out there then it means he’s unemployed.”

“What difference does that make, he’ll just sell his crap to someone else.”

“Not in this country—there’s an injunction on it and Jason seemed to think the judge was very irritated by someone looking to expose a minor.”

“What being too young has helped me?”

“Yes, the judge deemed that although your appearance in a national side made some interest in you by the general public reasonable; because you were only fourteen, it was illegal to reveal anything more than a very basic amount about you, such as was shown in the official programme and website—namely, who you were, your age and the club you played for. Anything else was considered intrusive.

“The judge also agreed with the official line that you had qualified as being legally your new gender and thus required you to be shown as that alone, anything else he deemed as unnecessary disclosure and in breach of the guidelines for reporting of minors.”

“Wossat mean?”

“They can’t reveal your previous gender.”

“Oh, so there’s no story?”

“Not in this country.”

“What about in the country we play next?”

“That’s a point, when I speak to Jason I’ll ask him but I suspect he won’t be able to do much about that. Besides you have to get yourself back into the squad, don’t you?”

“I’ll do that, Mummy, don’t you worry.”

“Good, you’re training tonight.”

“Am I? What about this creepy reporter guy?”

“If he shows up, he’ll get a surprise.”

She looked bemused.

“Do your homework,” I said going off to start up my own computer and do something similar. I’d told Diane I was coming in due to a family emergency and to email me anything urgent. I had eight enquiries to deal with.

The day dragged on and I dealt with my paperwork, ate a delicious lunch that David produced—he’s a genius. We had jacket potatoes with flaked salmon in watercress sauce and a shredded cabbage. He realised that Danielle would be out tonight training and gave her a larger portion, her supper would be a snack. As I’d be out as well, I could have had the same but I’m trying to cut down my intake a little, my jeans were getting just a trifle too close fitting.

At six she and I got into the Jaguar and set off for the training ground. I would watch her like a hawk. If I spotted anyone taking photos of her or trying to speak to her, they’d be in trouble—I could call the police, they’d be in contempt of court and liable to be arrested and with me calling them, I knew they’d respond quickly.

I watched the girls training and despite her temporary absence Danni seemed able to keep up with all the others. When they started playing each other or practising set piece moves she looked a class above the others and her bendy free kicks were quite special. None of the others were capable of anything like them. Trish had tried to explain the physics but I wasn’t interested—to me it was magical and I wanted her to maintain the ability to stroke a ball round corners like some teenage sorceress.

I spotted our reporter and then lost him in the darkness beyond the floodlights. However, he tried to confront us as we walked back towards the car. I gave Danielle the car keys and told her to get in the car while I dealt with our intruder.

“She used to be a boy, didn’t she?”

“I don’t have to answer that and you have no right to ask it. You are in breach of an injunction and I shall call the police.”

“By the time they get here, I’ll be long gone and you know it.”

“Why are you persisting in chasing her? What has she done to you?”

“If we’re playing boys in a girl’s team aren’t we cheating, so don’t the public deserve to know?”

“She isn’t a boy and the FA seem happy with that fact. So why are you pursuing it?”

“It’s my job—it’s what I do.”

He didn’t see James walk up behind him until he felt a hand on his shoulder. “My colleague is just pursuing his job—he kills people.” The reporter literally lost control of his bowels and dropped his camera before he sort of waddled at high speed in his squelchy trousers back to his car. James had got the number and from that we had a name and address.

I spoke to the police who laughed at the fright the man had received but cautioned against suggesting I was going to have him killed. I did suggest that I didn’t say directly that was what would happen, I left it to his imagination. I also surrendered his camera to them—a nice Pentax digital SLR which had mysteriously lost its memory card.

I told them I would serve the injunction on him by bailiff and inform him where his camera was. They suggested if he came to claim it, he’d be confirming he was in contempt of court as his editor had already been served one and had agreed to call his reporter back in. Either way, one or other of them was in contempt and I suggest the editor would drop his reporter in it, very quickly.

James had identified a name and address, the next thing would be investigating his credit worthiness and systematically destroying it. I now walked away from the whole thing, once the slightest mistake was discovered, it would be, we’d employ a very determined debt recovery firm to harass him for the next few months—it would let him know what it was like to be hunted, possibly in a way which seemed unjustifiable to him—exactly the same emotion felt by my daughter. I’d leave James to decide when we’d harassed him enough, but bankruptcy seemed like a reasonable end point. James nodded wryly—there were times when he enjoyed his work.

I only had to reconcile my conscience with my actions, or should that be the other way round? I hadn’t actually hurt anyone but the man had been unable to appreciate my point of view. When we did call off the dogs, so to speak, I would ask James to let him know that he would now understand how his victims felt.

I accepted my angelic status—what a laugh that is—would naturally be compromised but I’d accept that if it put the word about that it was not a good idea to threaten my family. Jason would also make sure the board of the newspaper and its editor recognised how close they’d come to all being in court for contempt and would continue to remind them for the next few months.

If that’s abuse of power or position or even wealth, I plead guilty, but sometimes you have to take the fight back to your enemies or risk being seen as an easy target. To myself, I can justify my actions and those of my agents.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2748 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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229 dozen for our dodecaphiles.
Danielle hadn’t played for a couple of weeks which I hoped wouldn’t cause her to become injured. She was playing at Basildon on Sunday and then again on Wednesday in London at Queen’s Park Rangers, so it would be a week or so before she actually debuted at Portsmouth’s own stadium, Fratton Park; where the ladies would now play their home games.

She’d had a couple of muscle injuries which had kept her out of the team for the past month and was looking forward to getting in amongst the goals and possibly winning promotion from the Women’s Premier League—Southern division to the Super League and regaining her England place. Sadly, although the FA are signed up to an equality and diversity policy regarding transgender players, it remains to be seen in Danielle gets picked to play again since this latest resurgence in interest by the gutter press. It’s a crying shame that it’s of any interest even to the most prurient of their readers and it’s also one that the official body, the Football Association, can’t just say, ‘so what’ to any questions. But then, many of us still live in the Middle Ages, especially those cursed by religiosity.

The following day, after our confrontation with the nasty little man in the dirty raincoat, I took her to school as normal and as far as I know, nothing out of the ordinary happened. After seeing all the girls into school I drove on to the university and a meeting with the finance department and my capitulation to the probable raising of student fees next term. It really grieves me that we’ve gone down this route with all the bullshit it contains about graduates earning so much more than non university educated people. Tell that to Richard Branston. However, it’s probably true that graduates do earn more eventually, and men still earn more than women graduates. All equal in the eyes of God eh? Yeah sure.

I came out of the meeting feeling like I’d betrayed my students but I had no choice, the whole university was for it, or so the finance department claimed. I muttered loudly as they packed up their files, ‘We no longer educate the young, we sell them degrees.’ I got back a counter asking if I’d prefer we went broke instead. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it, so I said nothing. I just feel sorry for those youngsters who have to mortgage their future to try and get a toe on the ladder. I also know loads of undergrads do subjects they enjoy but are unable to find work in the same field and end up in offices or shops or flipping burgers—with increasing debts to finish their courses. Imagine you’ve just graduated with an honours degree in something and still full of the triumph of completing a three or four year course with consequent huge student debt only to find the only jobs available are in a nationally run burger franchise which will never enable you to repay the debt or get out of the rut it creates.

My kids will be fortunate because they’ll have their fees paid for them by us along with everything else providing they maintain certain standards of behaviour and academic effort. The big worry will be Trish, she’ll be intellectually capable of university within a couple of years but will she cope emotionally? I really don’t know. Nor do I know what to do about it yet. See, money can’t buy you everything.

I had an email from the head coach at Portsmouth Ladies and his tone suggested he wasn’t impressed by the support of the FA towards transgender women players. Seems it’s easier to sign up to platitudes than it is to make them real protocols—I might have to get Jason to encourage them in his own inimitable way and to point out that Danni meets all the requirements to be considered eligible to play for her nation as a female. Another headache to deal with—why can’t life just play fair now and again.

“When I got home that evening, relaxing because it looked as if the story featuring Danni had died a death when Helen met me at the kitchen door to tell me she thought the washing machine had gone phutt. When I examined said machine, it sort of confirmed the diagnosis—I spent half the evening finding a replacement. Getting it delivered was another chore which I’m sure shouldn’t have been. It was also four hundred quid I could have spent on new uniforms for Danielle, who seems to have grown a bit since I bought the first ones.

The next thing, a note from the plumber, who thinks he can come when he likes to service the boiler. I gave Helen cart blanche to organise the visit when she’s available and a blank cheque to get a new one if necessary, not that I really wanted that sort of expense just now. We’ll need another commercial sized one and they don’t come cheaply.

I explained to Sister Maria about Danielle’s trip to play football and she was concerned that the trip plus a full day in school might be too much for Danni to cope with. Danni shrugged it off saying she’d cope, except I know on Thursday it’ll be difficult to get her up. At least they go by coach and I’ll collect her from the ground when they get back—so two of us will be yawning. Si can collect her on Sunday when they get back I’ll have things to prepare for the girls for Monday and we can pretend they have two parents. Okay, he’s not that bad but he doesn’t do as much as he might and I don’t want to be seen to be nagging him all the time.

At least the weather looks to be improving, had some really heavy showers today but the weekend is supposed to be better—I might even get a ride in if I organise things properly—have to see what everybody else is doing or go off early before they get up. Poo, it looks as if it might be foggy first thing—blessed weather.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2749 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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The fog didn’t arrive, for which I was grateful. But as I dropped the girls at school Trish asked, “There’s a total eclipse of the moon on Sunday night—can we watch it?”

“What time is it?”

“I dunno, sometime after dark, I s’pose.”

“I’m not saying yes until I know what time it is, I’m not letting you stay up half the night.”

“But it won’t happen for another thirteen years, it’s a super moon or something.”

“Da da da dad a, dad a da,” sang Danielle with one fist raised to the heavens.

“I said super moon, not Superman, stupid.” Trish got quite ratty with her elder sister, especially when the others laughed. “So can I?”

“I told you, it depends upon the time it happens. Last time I saw one, it took a couple of hours—you’re not staying up all night, that’s for sure.”

“But, Mummy, it’s a scientific event and I’ll learn loads from it.”

Arguably she knew too much now. If it wasn’t too late, I might let her watch part of it. “We’ll see, now if you keep on about it, I’ll say no for certain.”

“Oh all right, keep your ’air on.” Sometimes this child walks a very fine line and will push her boundaries too far one day and I’ll be obliged to walk all over her, which will please no one but might teach her there are limits as to what I will accept of her behaviour.

I went off to my office and dealt with a mountain of paperwork. “Did the press leave your girl alone afterwards?”

“Seems like.”

“She’s a talented soccer player?”

“Yes.”

“And she’s like you?”

“Nope, I couldn’t kick a ball to save my life.”

“I meant transgender.”

“Both of us have female birth certificates.”

Her face fell for a moment before she responded, “Now—you mean.”

“You know my history, why don’t we stop the games, Diane?”

“Fine, the fact that she’s a precocious talent wouldn’t stop you letting her talk to the press, because that’s what parents do today. That she used to be a boy and is a precocious girl soccer player, would.”

“Give the lady a coconut,” I said sarcastically, “Can we get back to matters academic now?”

“Professor, I’m not prying...”

“Aren’t you?”

“Look, I remember you from school hanging round with Siân Griffiths and you were living as boy then, at least some of the time. How you are now is obviously how you were meant to be and I have no problem working with you, in fact I admire you for having the courage to do it—don’t know if I could. That you have a daughter who’s the same is no surprise, who better to know how to cope with the problems it throws up but someone who’s gone through the same.”

I wasn’t sure how to deal with this, part of me felt indignation—what right have you to make judgements about me? Part of me felt relief, it was now out in the open. Was it going to affect the relationship? Possibly.

It shouldn’t surprise me, she’s not stupid and there’s plenty of information about me on the net if you look in the right places. Don’t think there’s anything about any of the children, so she’s guessing. However, it’s not exactly rocket science.

At least Danni doesn’t expect me to go and watch her matches anymore because Sunday clashes with the men’s world road race championship. We won’t win it not without the likes of Cavendish and Froome who are injured. Tomorrow is the rugger between England and Wales, so Tom and Si and probably Danni will be watching that—it’s tomorrow night I think. I’ll probably be doing the ironing or other chores. I’ll ask to watch the cycling on Sunday—could always watch it on my computer I suppose, except the television has a better picture and it’s bigger.

I wonder how Armitstead will do in the women’s race tomorrow? Sadly I won’t have the time to watch it, too many family demands upon me—none of which I regret, after all, I brought it all upon myself and love every moment. I don’t know if I’d have chosen to become a professor but to have become a wife and mother was the greatest ambition I could have ever aimed for.

I told Danielle I’d try and get to the odd home game for her, which I honestly will try and do. Soccer in general doesn’t interest me very much and women’s even less than the men’s game. That I have two girls who are quite good at it means I’ll go to watch them when I can afford the time, but it won’t be a priority unless the games are special. I mean a cup match for the school teams or Danielle playing for England is special and I’ll be shouting as loud as anyone—but for my children to do well.

Some would suggest I’m very selfish wanting a family and a demanding job. I won’t disagree as I feel both are important to me and to others and both are of a nurturing sort, raising and guiding my children and educating young minds while attempting to protect vulnerable wild life.

I was deep into my reverie when the phone rang and jolted me out of it. “Yes, Diane?”

“Dr Helen Maddison from Natural England is on the phone, Professor.”

“Okay, put her through.”

“Cathy?”

“Hello Helen.” What I meant was, what d’you want as she only calls when she wants something.

“Could you or one of your faculty do a dormouse survey for us as a matter of urgency?”

“Where is it?”

“Near Petersfield.”

“Developer wanting to build houses?”

“No actually, someone who wants to clear fell for a solar farm.”

“They want to clear a woodland to stick up solar panels?”

“So it would seem.”

“And dormice are the best way to stop him?”

“I couldn’t possibly comment.”

“Give me exact coordinates and I’ll try and get someone out this weekend.” I wondered what Graham was doing, though he’d been avoiding me ever since I told him the facts of life. She gave me a grid reference and GPS coordinates.

After talking to her I asked Diane to see if Graham was available to do a survey that weekend and I passed on the details. At three o’clock just as I was about to leave she informed me that Graham wasn’t answering his mobile and didn’t appear to be on campus—just what I needed. If David asks for the weekend off, I’m doing a runner myself.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2750 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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(Wow! Three quarters towards the third millennial episode – I don’t believe it.)

“What are you doing tomorrow?” I asked Simon as we loaded the dishwasher after dinner.

“There’s rugby on all over the weekend, the biggie tomorrow is England Wales at Twickenham.”

“When’s that?”

“In the evening, eight o’clock or something like that. Why?”

“Looks like I’ll have to do a dormouse survey of a wood near Petersfield.”

“Couldn’t you get one of your lackeys to do it?”

“If I could, would I be saying I had to do it?”

“What for this time?”

“Solar panel development—they want to clear fell a wood.”

“What are they, stupid?”

“No, probably greedy. Farmers find it easier to lease land for such things than cull badgers.”

“Can’t Natural England or whoever, stop them?”

“Who d’you think called the bat-phone?”

“Ah, don’t tell me you want me to do the survey for you?” He sniggered and I came close to saying something we’d both regret.

Instead I said, “Si, the last time you went dormousing you got shot. I’ve never actually shown you what you need to look for, so I doubt you’d be able to do it for me even if you wanted to.”

“So, you want me to babysit?”

“If you could. I’d need about three hours.”

He sighed, “Just this once, but I want to watch the England Wales Game undisturbed and Scotland on Sunday.”

“I’ll do what I can to facilitate that.”

“You got a deal.”

“Thank you, darling.” I kissed him and Trish came through saying something about, ‘get a room.’ Fortunately both of us laughed.

“Why don’t you take her with you tomorrow?”

“I could, possibly Danielle as well, she enjoys it.”

“I’m amazed she can see anything through all that mascara.”

“She’s a teenager, they do things like that.”

“Did you?”

“I did when I had the chance, which wasn’t very often.”

“I keep forgetting—sorry.”

“That’s okay.”

“Didn’t I see some pictures of you with Siân at Weston Super Mare on some donkeys?”

“I thought I’d hidden those.”

“I could only see two young women.”

I blushed my reply.

“And there was that one of you shovelling muck from wotsisface’s house.”

“Marc Absolom.”

“Yeah him—he came to dinner, didn’t he?”

“I didn’t have any makeup on in either of those photos. In fact I wasn’t in girl mode in either until, in the first I fell in the mud at the beach and ended up in Siân’s spare clothes and in the second, Marc’s mother mistook me for a girl because of my long hair.”

“Babes, she didn’t mistake you for a girl—it was the others being blind or dumb in mistaking you for a boy. There was no boy there, you are and always have been female—just the plumbing was wrong.”

I shrugged—I so wanted to agree with him—I did agree with him, but lots of my contemporaries would not have done—then they enjoyed what they thought was queer-bashing. Got news for ya fellahs, you were wrong and Marc’s mother was right.

The next morning, Danielle, Trish and I set off to do the survey. I had all my usual stuff including my camera. We arrived at the woodland and heard heavy machinery. To our dismay there were men taking down trees with diggers. I called Helen Madison who said she’d get there as soon as she could and to ask them to stop.

I left the girls standing by the car and walked up to the man who seemed to be in charge. “Get lost, darlin’ this is no place for girlies walking their dogs.”

“Please stop your felling immediately?”

“I’ve got a job to do, so get lost before I have you removed for your own safety.”

“Look here, you supercilious moron, this work is illegal until I’ve done a survey.”

“Oh yeah, and who might you be?”

“Professor Cathy Watts from Portsmouth University.”

“Survey for what? If you’ve come to hug a tree missus, you’re too late.”

“Dr Helen Maddison is on her way here from Natural England. If you don’t wait for her before you fell anything else, I’ll happily give evidence in a court of law and see you bankrupted as well as fined for every potential dormouse you’ve disturbed.”

“You’re that dormouse woman, aren’t you?”

“What of it?”

“Bloody things are more important than keeping the lights on are they?”

“If you think a few solar panels are going to make much difference in the general scheme of things, you must be more stupid than I thought.”

“I’d have thought you’d have been in favour of them, being into nature an’ all.”

“I am in the right place, but this isn’t it.”

“Well the council seems to think it is.”

“They do what Natural England tells them.”

“Too bad she’ll be too late, innit?” he laughed and nodded at the driver of the digger which smashed down an ash tree and went on destroying several smaller trees.

“I shall see you ruined.”

“Won’t save your wood.”

I called the police and as soon as they heard my name they said they’d send a car. He heard me talking to the police and became a little more conciliatory. “There’s no need for the police, I’m sure we could sort this between us.”

“Like some of these trees, it’s too late. I’m going to make sure you pay for your patronising and bullying attitude.”

“How d’you plan to do that—it’s just a misunderstanding between us?”

“Is it now, my recorder won’t agree with that.”

“You can’t use that in court, you tricked me.”

“I asked you politely to stop, you refused. I told you to stop and you told your man to continue destroying trees. Some of these trees are over a hundred years old, if left alone they’d be here long after your stupid solar panels have given up the ghost. You have vandalised this woodland, I’m going to ask Dr Maddison to prosecute you.”

“It won’t work, they never do and I’ll put the word out that you wasted your time, Professor or whatever you are.”

“To you, I may as well be called Nemesis, because I’m going to make it my business to make you pay for your patronising and bullying behaviour.”

“Yeah, sure. When the cops get here I’m gonna make them escort you away. This is no place for women and their children, so go home.”

“I think you might be somewhat disappointed you arrogant little pipsqueak.”

“You are really funny, you know that—not shorta balls—but funny.”

“She who laughs last laughs longest.”

I was aware of one of his workers making a call, probably to the landowner or someone similar. Minutes later as the stand-off continued a police car arrived followed by Helen’s Land Rover.

In the ensuing discussion, the contractor was told to desist and he refused. The landowner arrived and ordered everyone from the land except his contractors. To her credit, Helen stood her ground and I supported her. The contractor started shouting at her and a scuffle started with the landowner, a farmer, pushing her over. The young copper, who must have been six foot three or four arrested him and dragged him off to the police car. I helped Helen up and the contractor came rushing at me yelling abuse, Danielle intervened and tripped him up, he ended up face down in the mud. On rising from this with everyone laughing at him he rushed at me again and I let him come then tipped him over my hip whereupon the second copper grabbed him and arrested him as well. Helen told the workforce to leave or face arrest as well. They eventually sloped off in a very sullen manner.

“Have you got time to still do a survey, Cathy?”

“You coming to watch?” I invited her.

“Yeah, might as well.”

“Girls, this is Helen. Helen, this is Danielle and the younger one is Trish. Let’s go and find some dormice.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2751 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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“Goodness a field trip with the expert,” said Helen.

“Yes, if there’s anything you don’t understand, just say so,” quipped Trish and I snorted and Helen gasped.

“She’s likely to find acorns or hazels before us.”

“How is that?” Helen seemed shocked.

“She’s closer to the ground.”

Helen chuckled but as we moved beyond the damaged part of the wood my prediction proved correct. She was busy talking to Danni about playing football for England when Trish, who like me had been scouring the ground for the tell tale signs of dormouse occupation—the cast off shells of hazel and acorns which had been opened by our quarry.

“Ah ha,” she yelled frightening a pigeon who flew almost vertically up to a branch some thirty feet from the ground. “Got one, I think.” She handed it to me and I checked it under my hand lens, but was pretty sure she was right. She found three or four more and she did seem to see them quicker than anyone else.

We quickly surveyed the rest of the more promising sites and each time we found dormouse eaten food waste. Two of the shells weren’t filled with mud, so were probably this year’s. The others could have been any age. Once they fill up with soil they could have been there years.

“Waddya think, Cathy?”

“The two empty shells are certainly dormouse and probably this year. The other ones could be older,” my conclusion was ambiguous. “However, the only way is to do nest boxes or tubes.”

“If I gave you the next stage, how long would it take to confirm?”

“How long is a piece of string, it might be a few days it could be months if at all. The tubes are the next thing usually, but dormice do their own thing, so it might happen tomorrow or not at all. Bedding material in a tube is considered evidence of dormouse activity.”

“I’ll instruct the landowner to wait a month and to allow you or your team that month to do your full survey. Is that going to be long enough?”

“For this year, especially if it gets any colder.”

“Of course, they go into hibernation mode don’t they?”

“Or just become torpid.”

“Presumably it works?”

“So far so good. The problem is food supply, if it’s plentiful, they continue if not they cut their losses and hibernate, which is fine if it doesn’t get too warm, too early. Then they’re stuffed, nothing to replace the fat they use up in warming themselves up to activity levels.”

“Do the best you can and I’ll try and talk the landowner round.”

“He’ll want to get the work started before the weather deteriorates.”

“Tough, I’ll tell him we’ve found probable occupation by dormice, so if he damages the site any further, I’ll ask you to calculate how many are likely to have been there and go for that number to prosecute him at a thousand pounds per animal.”

“Surely no court would impose fines based upon probabilities, will it?”

“I sincerely hope he doesn’t know that.” We parted soon afterwards and she went off to do what she does with the landowner while I drove the others home aware that Simon wanted to watch the rugby in peace.

After it had finished and Wales played the giant killer card and beat England by three points—a penalty taken by the ice cool Dan Biggar who stepped up to do the kicking since the injury to Halfpenny in the warm up games. Biggar is a Scots name so he can’t be bad. Simon was cock-a-hoop at Wales’ win and apparently the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge were there supporting them—he’s president or patron of the WRU. His brother, was there supporting England.

Simon said it was a cracker of a game, the action flowing back and fore and was anybody’s, though Wales have lost two more players through injury. If it goes on at this rate, they’ll be calling up Siân before the tournament is over. They have games against Fiji and the Aussies left and both of those will physical according to Si. I suppose they just need to conjure up the Rorke’s Drift spirit, when the South Wales Borderers won eleven Victoria Crosses in one day.

I didn’t see it, I was writing a report for Helen with initial findings of probable occupation by dormouse. One nest in the thirty or so tubes I’ll put up in the next week and we’ve got a confirmation and the landowner has big problems. I don’t have any sympathy, it’s obviously profiteering and vandalism. The solar panels need to be put on all public buildings not clear felling woodland and using the panels as an excuse. Tom is talking about putting them on the roof of our house, but the return for the investment probably isn’t cost effective, though he’d be looking to try and save pollution rather than make money. It looks like we’re going to get nuclear whether we want one or not, though I’m not sure I like the idea of Chinese built reactors. What happened to British engineering, which at one time led the world?

Danielle sat and watched the rugby with her dad and grandfather. She said she enjoyed it but wasn’t too happy that Wales won. She thought England played better and Wales winning went against the run of play. I only saw the highlights on the news and then they didn’t make any mention of a British woman winning the World road race Championships, even though by then they knew the result. The Sunday papers all had stuff on the rugby but few had much on Lizzie Amitstead’s achievement. So well done to her on being, the World Cup series, the Commonwealth Games and now the World championship winner, all at the same time.

They showed the highlights on Sunday but I missed them I was still away after taking Danielle down to the coach for her game for Portsmouth Ladies, Si had agreed to collect her until he realised Scotland were playing. So I had to cover the shortfall or try and talk Julie or Sammi into going instead.

Looks like Sagan has won the World Road Race Championships—he’s taken quite a few stages on the TdF, including the green jersey, so good luck to him. Sammi went to get her sister and I went to bed with Trish still nagging me about being allowed up to watch the lunar eclipse. I wasn’t sure, it would mean rising for ten past two in the morning to see the eclipse cover the moon and another two hours or more to see it lift.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2752 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 awoke to something prodding me. I tried to ignore it but it just kept poking away. I cracked open an eyelid and could see it was still dark. I was prodded again. I opened both eyes. “Can I go and watch the eclipse, Mummy?” I wondered if Einstein’s mother had this sort of problem.

I glanced at the clock, it was five minutes to two in the morning. It was so tempting to say, ‘No go back to bed,’ but I didn’t. Apparently there wouldn’t be one like this for another eighteen years—if she wakes me up to watch that one, I won’t be answerable for my actions. “It’s just starting.”

“You can watch for an hour maximum, then back to bed.” I hissed at her and threw back the covers before getting out of bed. I pulled on some jeans and a sweater over my pyjamas—I wasn’t going to delay getting back to bed—then some socks and shoes. Trish was already dressed; the little urchin must have known I’d let her. At least she came and asked rather than going out by herself and setting off the alarm.

We wrapped up in warm coats and cameras at the ready we went out doors followed by Bramble who wondered if it was breakfast time already, our guard dog didn’t even wake.

The moon was almost due south of us and although bright, it was light enough to see our way quite easily; I did have a torch in my pocket just in case, the shadow of the earth was beginning to cover it from the top. Trish was quite excited and I suppose I was if I thought about it, after all we were watching something happen on a planet a quarter of a million miles away and without any sort of aid. It was enfolding in front of our eyes and it was free for those who wanted to see it.

We each took photos with hand held cameras as the shadow swallowed up our nearest planet. I could quite see how primitive peoples could have felt threatened by witnessing such an event. We knew exactly what was happening and it still stirred ancient emotions. Trish was revelling in it, her piping voice echoing in the driveway.

As the time wore on the area covered by shadow began to turn reddish brown and although we tried, neither of us got much of a photo of it, the colour change, that is. At quarter past three I told her she was to go straight to bed and sleep or I’d never let her do such a thing again. She nodded and we went indoors, she had a little drink and went up to bed. I decided to make a cuppa and it was probably quarter to four when I had a wee before getting back into bed. I cuddled up to Simon who muttered something in his sleep but he felt like my very own radiator.

Eventually I turned over to face away from him and as I was dropping off I felt his arm rest across my waist and I knew I was safe. Crazy, but it’s what happened. Somehow I managed to rouse myself just after the radio alarm went off and dragging myself into the shower hoped the water would wake me up. It did, but I wasn’t sure if either my body or brain really wanted to stay vertical or would prefer to go back to bed. I suspected the latter.

The children woke up as usual for a school day and Julie and Phoebe weren’t too abusive in their thanks for rousing them from their slumbers. Trish told her sisters in great detail how we’d stood and watched the shadow engulf the moon before it turned a brownish orange—a sort of burnt umber colour—if I remember my Windsor & Newton water colour paints correctly.

I yawned my way through the traffic to school making the girls snigger in the seat behind me. Trish seemed unaffected by her interruption of somnolence, it was me who felt knackered.

Once in the refuge of my office and a cup of tea steaming away in the mug on my desk, I managed to stop yawning long enough to start my computer. I had an acknowledgement from Helen Maddison regarding the initial report I’d emailed her the day before. She said the landowner claimed it was all a matter of misunderstanding—she didn’t add ‘deliberate’ as an adjective. He apparently promised to halt the demolition of the woodland until a survey had been carried out by the university and if dormice were seen to be active in the wood, he’d allow the wood to remain and forget the solar panels.

I sent her one back. ‘He might be telling the truth, but I wouldn’t bet on it. Keep checking if you can to make sure he keeps his word. Cathy.’

‘I’m not as daft as I look; met that sort before. If he reneges--he pays as we prosecute. Helen.’

I’ve seen such enthusiasm to protect the countryside wane when the individual realised the system was actually run to protect miscreants. As far as I know it hasn’t changed. If you drain your garden pond and kill a great crested newt by accident, you’ll feel the full force of the law. If you’re a huge property developer and destroy the equivalent of the Taj Mahal or a wood full of ancient trees—you’ll probably get planning permission to build the luxury gated community you always felt part of and be able to claim tax breaks.

I left it to her to deal with, I’d go up and start some of the tubes by the weekend. According to Helen she’d met such twisters before and two of them ended up with huge fines. I wasn’t convinced especially down here in the soggy South, where such things verged on the impossible. If they got Tom Cruise to act in it, I’d ignore his poor acting for a selfie with him in the background.

Lunch arrived as I was drinking my fourth cup of tea, in the shape of tuna salad baguette. Then it was time to collect the monsters and take them home.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2753 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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Three of them giggled and Trish was obviously the butt of the joke. “Okay, what’s so funny?” I demanded from the front seat.

“Twishy, she feww asweep in cwass.”

“Is this true, Trish?” I asked the cerebral one.

She blushed, “Yeah, but it was only for a couple of minutes and I had finished the exercise.”

“Exercise?” I tend to associate this with lycra and getting all sweaty.

“It was an algebra problem.”

“I thought you did special maths?” I pay enough for it.

“Yeah but the teacher was off sick so I had to sit in on an ordinary lesson—it was so borin’. I did all this like a year ago.”

“And you nodded off?”

She blushed again, “Yeah, I s’pose.”

“Was your answer to the problem correct?”

“Course it was, the teacher made me go an’ do it on the board and show everyone my workings out.”

“Why?”

She went a lovely fuscia again, “I did it in my head an’ jus’ wrote down the answer.”

“Could you show them how to do it?”

“Mummy, I’m ten you know, of course I could but it’s so bloody tedious.”

“Hoy, less of the swearing please, it’s unbecoming in a young lady.”

“Well, she got on my tits,” Trish blushed then laughed with the others.

“Enough of that sort of language if you don’t mind.”

Back at the house, Danielle was yawning almost as much as Trish. I said quietly to her, “Much as the school enjoys having an England cap amongst its pupils, I don’t know how long they’ll tolerate having a tired teenager every Monday morning.”

“We were doing all right ‘till we got held up on the M25. That was chronic.”

“Just be aware and be sure to keep your work up to date.”

“Muuuum, I am up to date with my homework.”

“Okay, that’s all I wanted to know.”

She scuttled off to change and do whatever homework she had accumulated during the day. By this time Trish was back down and yawning still. “Early night for you, Missy.”

“Yeah, okay.”

I thought one would be in order for me as well. I know I’m not thirty two yet but I can’t cope with late nights or disturbed ones like I used to. Must be getting old.

“Was it worth it?” asked Si when he got home and I practically yawned in his face.

“Yeah, I think so—won’t happen for another eighteen years and who knows where any of us will be by that time.”

“Well I saw the tail end when I left for work, didn’t look that special to me.”

“Philistine,” I accused.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, it was the solar system putting on a show for us and you weren’t impressed?”

“Nah, bloody amateurs.” He snorted at his own joke and went off to shower and change. We rarely talk about the bank unless something is worrying him and he needs to share it or they want me to do something.

On his return, he reminded me of a directors meeting the following week. I’d forgotten. He suggested I do a report on Billie’s Study Centre as the building was finished and Dan was slowly equipping it. Took him two weeks to get the phones connected and a photocopier sorted. The computer system was being installed this week so I expected an email at some point. He was doing a sterling job but single handed was hard work. I told him to get some clerical support, someone who could act as receptionist, secretary and general dogsbody.

He was very pleased with that idea. I gave details to Diane and asked her to send them on to him in more coherent form. I reminded him I’d require support if I was working there—I was after all the director, he was the manager. He told me he hadn’t forgotten I was still the boss and could work from there on occasions. He also reminded me that it wasn’t him who had several million hits of a dormouse diving into his cleavage on Youtube. So? Spike was obviously a creature of great taste.

Monday turned into Tuesday and I’d recovered, more or less, from my star gazing. It was just as well, because I had a series of tedious meetings with the university administration about staffing levels. We were short of a lecturer in microbiology and despite two adverts in the leading journals, we had no takers. I asked to see the adverts and wasn’t surprised, they were standard fare stuff and totally boring.

We’re a relatively small university compared to Southampton or Sussex. We have a growing reputation but I suspect the better qualified and connected teachers go to the bigger universities for what they think is either better research grants or pay. I called Diane into my office showed her the advert and asked her what she thought.

“It’s a bit boring, Professor.”

“Can you liven it up a little and bring it back before the end of the meeting?”

“Wow—okay, I’ll give it a try.” She went off with her tail held high and I suspect relishing the challenge—which I thought she was more than capable of meeting. She returned half an hour later and had retyped it selling the area and the dynamic department of biological sciences and their celebrity professor.

I objected to that but the rest enjoyed it, perhaps because it took me down a peg or two. Because I’d made two films and been on television and radio talking about things ecological, such as badger culling. Anyway, she was asked to continue improving her design during the rest of the day as necessary and to circulate as necessary before the end of the day—it was a great improvement on the original even if we didn’t use it all. It was finally sent off to personnel just about tea time.

I was home by this time having collected my girls from school. I liked the final form of the design and told everyone so by a blanket email. At least something good had happened.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2754 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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Another day at the office began with someone, one of the ecology lecturers, calling in sick—he’d got knocked off his bike riding home and had broken his clavicle. Wonderful, just what I needed. Diane looked sheepish when she told me.

“Okay, see if we can organise a get well card—it shows we’ve at least got his message. What is he teaching?”

“Um—ecology of woodlands.”

“When?”

“Ten o’clock until twelve.”

“What’s in the diary?”

“Nothing we can’t postpone—like a tutorial with Graham.”

“Okay, if I can find my notes, I’ll do it.”

“Won’t your students be surprised?”

“Yeah, but I expect they’ll live with the disappointment.”

Before I could as much as move, Diane had gone to the filing cabinet and in two ticks had produced a box file with my lecture notes in it and handed it to me. I thanked her and before she left handed a sheaf of notes and asked her to copy them as handouts for each student. I also asked her to ask the duty technician to come up and see me. I had an hour to decide how I’d work it. I’d dressed casually that morning in a pair of dark brown corduroy trousers, brown ankle boots with a two inch heel and a floral blouse with a vee neck and a beige cord jacket. At least I’d be able to move around freely—two hours—oh well, I supposed I could wing it for a couple of hours and I’m a professor, so no one is going to challenge me if they want a degree at the end of their course.

The technician was John, a new one who was covering Hilary, who was on maternity leave. If we liked him I might try and find some money to extend his contract. He’d never worked with me before and knowing that I was top banana, was eager to please. I told him how I wanted to play it.

“You’re going to make them work a bit aren’t you, Professor?”

“I thought that was the whole point of coming to a university.”

“Yes, but some lecturers just distribute facts or theories.”

“I’ll do a bit of that but the objective is to make them use the grey blob they have for more than keeping their ears apart. Between them they’ll have all sorts of knowledge, my job is to find out what they don’t know and fill the gaps, but we’ll do it my way—today at least.”

“How long is Dr Hawkins off?”

“At least a week depending upon if they have to operate or not.”

“There’s another of his classes next week.”

“Let’s see what happens today before we decide what we’ll do then.” John went off to set up the equipment I’d need. I had a final glance through my notes and hoped we still had the props I’d used a couple of years ago—a plan was coming together.

At five minutes to ten I strolled into the back entrance to lecture theatre one. I expected to have up to a hundred students there.I strolled out onto the stage—an elevated platform about a foot above the floor level with a bench across the front and various controls for lighting, projectors and so on. It also had a gas point for a Bunsen burner and a sink fitted at the one end. As soon as I came onto the stage there was a burst of applause—what for, I hadn’t done anything yet? I also glanced around the room, it was full to capacity and Diane was sitting on the end of the first row of tiered seats. What was she doing here?

I quietened things down and explained that Dr Hawkins was off for the moment and I was stepping in to do this lecture. There was more applause. I was obviously missing something because I had no idea what that was all about.

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, let’s get started. I already know quite a bit about ecology and also about woodlands. In fact, it might be said that I know a fair bit about the ecology of woodlands, which is why I standing up here. Now in a normal lecture, the object is to transfer the information I have in my notes into your notebooks without it passing through the minds of either of us. If that’s how you’d like it to be, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. I like to see my students work, partly because it saves me having to, but also because you might just learn something from today’s effort.”

Basically, I showed them a short clip of film demonstrating what constituted a woodland, and there are several types depending upon where you are and how you classify them. “I showed you that just in case you’re all Eskimos and have never seen a woodland before. I want you all to write down one thing about woodlands that you believe to be true, so things like the names of things that live there or what happens there or what does what there.” I gave them a couple of minutes to write something down.

“Starting from you at the back,” I pointed at a young man, “I want everyone to call out what they’ve written down, and John will type them onto the screen behind.” It took half an hour to get through them all and we obviously had several duplicates but we were building up a picture of a woodland and some of its occupants.

John had listed things under certain headings, so trees and insects were under different columns. He could also move things around and as the list grew we developed several new headings and moved things about from one to another column.

So far I hadn’t told them anything, all the information was provided by the students. When we started exploring relationships between different things like oak trees and purple hairstreak butterflies, or acorns and dormice, it became a bit more complicated and we had different coloured lines connecting different things with half a dozen headings.

With half an hour to go I asked them where man featured in the woodland structure we’d created. The first few answers were funnies and I gave them a moment longer to think about it.

After a few minutes of slightly better answers I suggested that there was little or no ancient forest in the UK and most of Europe which hadn’t been affected by man in one way or another. I reminded them that most of Britain was covered in forest until the Neolithic when man had cleared large amounts to use for kindling or the beginnings of agriculture were just starting.

I pointed out that woodland was a huge reservoir of raw materials from timber to plants and animals we used or exploited. I had them guessing at the life span of trees, fungi, flowering plants, insects, birds and mammals. Most were some distance from the actual average. Most mice live a year or two if they’re lucky. Dormice live up to five years in the wild and beyond that in laboratories.

I dismissed them for lunch telling them to do a questionnaire I appended to the handouts. It appeared that Diane had heard about my teaching and was surprised I hadn’t produced fireworks. I told her that was the one I did on bonfire night.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2755 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.

“You’re quite good at this teaching lark, Professor, have you thought about doing it professionally?”

Diane took a step backwards just in case. I wouldn’t have hit her in any case, she’s bigger than I. “Hmm, I’ll have to think about that.” She sniggered as much at my weak reply as anything else. “So how come you knocked off for two hours?”

“I was looking after the handouts—you might have needed more.”

“If you think I’m daft enough to believe that...”

“Alright, Delia told me if ever I got a chance to watch you teach, to take it. I can see why all the wrinklies at the extra mural department at UWE ask about the dormouse woman coming back to run courses.”

“That was only because I had Spike with me, she captivates everyone.”

“Ah, that would explain it.” She looked at me then the wrinkles around her mouth indicated she was about to laugh, I did too.

“C’mon, Missus, we’ve work to do.”

“Um—when I asked Pippa to take any calls for me because I was going to be assisting you in the lecture,” she blushed as she said this, “she told me that your dad wanted you to go to lunch with him, he’ll be here at half past.” I glanced at my watch, it was quarter past already. I dictated a couple of letters and told her to write me an essay on the ecology of woodlands to prove she’d stayed awake. Then I escorted Tom off to his usual eatery and settled for a tuna jacket while he complained about the calibre of students we seemed to recruit these days.

“Well you’re the one who’s a school governor—increase the academic quality of the teaching.”

“Ye ken fine weel that St Claire’s is a guid school. It’s a’ the ithers, they’re sae puir, hef thae students cannae sign their ain names.”

“This the improvement that our namesake has made with his academies and free schools is it? The man is a prize pillock.”

Tom sniggered at my summation of the Prime Minister, but I suspect he agreed more or less with it. If he hadn’t he’d have said something. Neither of us knew what to do about it but I was sure that bringing a respect back for the teaching profession would certainly help.

I read a story about some middle-aged woman teacher who told a boy off for continually interrupting her lesson and who when she told him to behave he as good as told her that she couldn’t make him. She was then accused of hitting him and throwing his mobile out the window. I suspect I’d have let him keep his mobile as I hurled him out the window. She was apparently convicted of assaulting the little toerag and might be struck off the teaching register, thereby destroying her career. I find it ludicrous that a kid can get away with saying anything to a teacher but the teacher has to play by the rules. I’m not sure allowing teachers to hit students is a good idea but there has to be a way to stop disruptive students stopping the education of the other children and making them sit on the naughty step seems unlikely to catch on.

It’s a sign of the loss of respect we have for everything, especially ourselves. Parents frequently have no skills in raising their equally idiotic offspring. The children have no respect for their parents and that then includes all authority figures like teachers and police officers. Children, especially boys are also so big today that physically overpowering forcing them to behave isn’t going to happen. It’s also sad that just one rotten apple in a class of thirty can prevent the other twenty nine from receiving an education by stopping the teacher from doing his or her job. At first it probably feels like a novelty but as the year goes on exam results will be affected and then it’s the teacher’s fault. Why does anyone go into teaching voluntarily these days—they must be stark staring bonkers.

Fortunately the problem isn’t as pronounced at university level, students who don’t want to learn are strongly urged to change their behaviour or asked to leave thereby wasting their own time and money. This is a particularly powerful incentive when you consider that students have to pay tuition fees as well as accommodation and so on. If you’re having to find £9000 ($12000) per year for tuition fees plus your other overheads it’s an awful lot to waste. Also because students are paying these large fees they have an entitlement to demand value for money from the university with regard to the quality of teaching and mentoring. We occasionally get these complaints and I treat them seriously, very seriously. Our reputation is very important, especially as one of the smaller universities—it is growing slowly but surely and I hope the courses run by my faculty are assisting in that growth of quality and reputation.

I discussed this with Daddy over lunch together with the newspaper story of the woman teacher. We’re pretty close in our visions of how things should run, which gives us a bit more leverage in getting others to see things our way; though some days it feels a very uphill struggle. I’m an idealist and very aware that it makes me vulnerable to more cynical elements, so far I’ve been able to shame them into leaving me and my utopian plans alone—but only because I bring in a good income for the university—yes, it all boils down to the moolah in the end.

“I wis glad tae hear ye’d been teaching thae day.”

“I had to, Hawkins fell off his bike and broke his collar bone, it was either cancel his lectures or find someone else to do it.”

“An’ it jest sae happened ye cud dae it?”

“I have taught it before.”

“I ken that, an’ probably better than most.”

“Could I have that in writing?”

“Whit that as a scientist ye mak’ a guid teacher?”

“Talk about a back handed compliment, that was one if ever I heard one.”

He roared with laughter, “Weel, it’s true. Ye’re a very guid teacher.”

“But not a scientist.”

“Oh aye, ye’re a scientist richt enough, but a better teacher.”

“Gee thanks, Daddy for the vote of confidence.”

“Ye’re no listening. Anyone can be a scientist—it just takes single mindedness. Tae be a guid teacher ye hae tae hae a dedication tae yer students an’ tae yer subject. Very few are able tae dae it really well. Ye’re one o’ them. It’s a real compliment, hen. Scientists are trained, guid teachers are born and ye’re thae best I’ve ever seen.”

I felt myself blushing. He teases me all the time and I get my own back as a real father and daughter would, yet when he means it he makes sure I understand the difference. I knew he liked the way I taught, as do some of my students—though not necessarily for the same reasons. I didn’t realise he liked the way I taught that much.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“Aye weel, dinnae let it gang tae yer heid. Noo tak’ me back tae ma office, some o’ us hae work tae dae this efternoon.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2756 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 collected the four mouseketeers and sent them off to change and do any homework that they hadn’t finished. It was Friday and the night before Wales had beaten Fiji in the world cup, which Simon had watched in his office so was late coming home.

The qualifiers from that group now depended on how the England Australia match went on the Saturday. Also, Scotland were playing South Africa and that would have implications for how much I saw of Simon that afternoon or evening. I don’t mind him watching the rugby because I know he used to play the game but I didn’t get much opportunity to watch the cycling the week before—but then I’m a woman and we’re expected to give up our free time to the other family members.

I wondered how the case with the landowners knocking down the trees in the wood had gone, had they obeyed the order from Natural England or not. I called Helen and she told me she was closely monitoring things but so far they’d behaved themselves. I told her if she wanted me to put up some tubes in the wood, we’d have to move quickly because the dormouse season would only have about another month before the days shortened and cooled and our furry friends would be looking to sleep off the winter in their hibernacula. That sounds more sophisticated than it is, basically they use a hole in the ground and build a nest of grass, leaves and honeysuckle bark then pull their tails up over their noses and zonk for five or six months. During that time they’re subject to being discovered by predators—anything from rats or even mice and bigger like badgers and foxes. They’re also at the mercy of the weather. If it goes mild and then cold, they could come out of hibernation which uses up their fat reserves only to need to go to sleep again, from which sadly, they might not awake unless they had extra fat reserves. If it’s too wet, they could drown or develop fungal diseases. Life sure ain’t easy for dormice; but if your main food source disappears for half the year, you have to do the same or stock up reserves which could result in you forgetting just where they are or someone else finding them.

I suppose life is a constant battle in the wild, it’s bad enough for us in developed countries where no one should go hungry and where we have a good life expectancy, but in the red tooth and claw worlds, life can be short and brutal with top of the food chain predators, fox and badger only having to fear man and his motor vehicles or human hunters. If they reintroduce lynx and wolves or even bears, things could become very different but that’s some time away and I think an unwise policy. To start with, large predators will be tempted to take sheep or their lambs and farmers will then quite rightly feel aggrieved.

Otters were hunted to small populations from which they have now recovered to start to recolonise rivers which won’t have seen them for forty or fifty years, which is bad news for mink. Otters kill or drive out mink as they’re active competitors for similar food items.

If only we could expand the range of pine martens because that would reduce the number of grey squirrels and make more food stuffs like nuts and acorns available to the smaller rodents such as dormice.

Helen decided we didn’t have time to do the dormouse survey before the spring so the landowner will have to think again about his solar panels. I was of firm belief that the wood had dormice as well as other inhabitants but would need to wait for the warmer weather to prove it beyond any doubt.

I was saddened by the number of flattened hedgehogs and bashed badgers or foxes I was seeing on the roads—looks like road kills are increasing, round us, at any rate. And I wonder if there are any pheasants left to shoot as significant numbers get squished on the road alongside the farms that hold the shoots. Personally, I think breeding things for lunatics with guns to shoot is diabolical but then no one listens to me—I’m only a stupid woman, what do I know?

Saturday was a lovely day though slightly cooler than the previous couple of days. I got stuck into my chores and with Tom inviting David to join the rugby watchers I got lumbered with helping him with dinner. It wasn’t exactly onerous but extra work I didn’t need.

The groans in the late afternoon/early evening tended to show that Scotland had succumbed to South Africa. While as always I secretly root for Wales, I wasn’t going to watch the games of the other nations, I had too much to do.

So while one bank director sat and watched two football games, another was stuck writing a report on the progress of the woodland study centre named after Billie, which was punctuated by several other little things I had to do, like ironing and cooking as David appeared to have forgotten he hadn’t finished the food preparation before he jumped ship to the rugby camp.

It appeared that Australia got the measure of England and beat them comprehensively, especially in the second half which meant Wales and Australia would be playing to see who topped the group, the losers would face South Africa in the quarter finals. England had been eliminated, the first host nation not to reach the quarter finals since the competition began. The margin of the win by Australia also meant it was their biggest ever win against England at Twickenham.

I learned all this that evening. David was devastated being the only English adult in the rugby watchers group. Danni was also similarly affected. As for me, I had that report to finish and children to fed then get to bed. It must be really hard work being a man and having to deal with the highs and lows of rugby world cups compared to my easy one—I don’t think.

Oh well, back to the grind...

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2757 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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There’s me moaning about the lot of women again. I shouldn’t, after all I had the chance to be a man but failed the aptitude test, possibly the physical as well. At the same time, it seems that women do far more about the house than men even when holding down just as demanding jobs. The men in this house—Simon and Tom, wash the cars and do the garden and the girls sometimes help them with that. It’s only by formal request do they do any of the domestic chores apart from putting the girls to bed and reading stories and even then I usually have to ask them. It’s a shame because it helps the children bond with them. Although in that respect, the children bond quite well with the men, if anything it’s the men who are more reluctant and neither are that bad. Simon isn’t here that often but when he is, he’ll interact with the girls, especially Mima who loves her dad to bits.

Livvie is slightly stand-offish but given her history, it’s perhaps not surprising. She can turn on the charm when she wants something which is a little worrying, Meems will do it for a cuddle with her dad.

Trish frightens everyone except Livvie, so it’s hardly surprising she sometimes finds it difficult to interact with the adults. At times she acts like a normal ten year old, at others it’s like playing chess with a supercomputer. Tom is very good at dealing with her because he’s very clever as well and Simon can always buy his way out of things or go authoritarian. Me, I’m just her adopted mother who she alternately loves or hates depending upon how many boundaries she’s stretched or crossed.

Danni is a teenager and becoming quite a pretty one, the hormones are changing her body and with the exercise she gets, she has a lovely one. Somehow she’s learnt to flirt and does so with Simon to get whatever she wants—within reason. It doesn’t work with me of course, so I get the sullen teenager bit when I refuse to give in to her demands. I try to keep her grounded because being an international athlete at thirteen could cause her ego problems if we let it. Thankfully she’s pretty down to earth most of the time.

Julie is late teens and a young woman with a sense of style and a head for business which together with her sister and partner in crime, Phoebe, they make a formidable pair of businesswomen. Their salon is already becoming the in place for hair styling amongst the trend setters of Portsmouth.

Phoebe has done really well since losing her mother and brother and sister in law in a relatively short period of time. She gives me very little trouble and is dedicated to her business plans with Julie. I believe they’re looking to employ another stylist in the next week or two. Since they moved premises, they’ve gone from strength to strength.

Jacquie worries me at times, she wants to do things but lacks confidence in herself, possibly a consequence of being incarcerated for a long period at such an impressionable age, not to mention the abuse she suffered for something she didn’t do. She’s trying to build an independent life by doing a degree at Winchester but she needs to live at home after being abused once before by a partner while doing an access course. I try to encourage her to grow.

Sammi is possibly the only one to be considered as bright as Trish. She’s a cyber genius and spends much of her life protecting the bank or writing programmes for people like me who are too dim to do it ourselves. She could get a job with almost any large concern at a good salary doing their cyber protection. She is one of the few people respected by Trish for their intellects. Somehow, I get included too because I’m wilier than our ten year old—experience, there’s no substitute for it.

Apart from wrapping her father round her little fingers, Meems is quite bright and reads well above her age, but then she’s been encouraged by Trish and Livvie. Sadly her speech impediment doesn’t seem to improve and no language therapist seems to know why, she’s seen several.

Hannah is our latest acquisition, it’s taken her some while to integrate—she has lots of baggage, mostly from her mother. Now she’s relaxed a bit she’s coming on very well in school and seems to get on reasonably well with her siblings, especially Trish and Livvie. She’s a very polite young woman.

Catherine is four coming up five and goes to nursery. Usually one of the others take her because I can’t get any more in the Jaguar for the school run. She seems quite bright, but is that because she is or because we encourage all of them to do things which develop their basic skills especially reading and writing and even some easy things on the computer.

Even Lizzie is nearly two and learning to read from the others. She has fingers everywhere and last night tried to get the DVD recorder to play a piece of toast. It took Sammi an hour to clean it up. She makes her own computers as well and her bedroom is half girly, half electronics workshop.

Pudding has started school and Stella is pleased with her progress. For some reason, Stella decided against St Claire’s which is just as well because i wouldn’t have been able to take any more there with running a shuttle service or trading my car in for a bus of some sort.

The school Pudding goes to is another private one, which aligns itself with the Church of England though as far as I know is independent of them for funding. Like me, Stella has built a work timetable around the school day.

I see the QA had an open day at the weekend. I know sister in law wasn’t involved, she doesn’t do weekends and won’t until the children are more independent. She enjoys her job and I encourage her. Given her track record with pregnancies, she’s had her tubes tied so shouldn’t have any more babies, though I’d love to see her settled with a decent man, she deserves some happiness though I doubt she could run a household by herself.

Tom goes on from strength to strength and appears to be enjoying himself as Dean of science. He seems to think he might do it for a couple more years assuming his health holds out—it will, I’ve sorted everything in sight for him. He’s probably healthier than I am.

Simon—he’s good as an administrator and also as risk taker, he instinctively seems to know a good bet when he sees one, which is why he was so good at investment banking. He says that he doesn’t like personal banking, too many small customers to keep happy, but he seems in no hurry to do anything else. Sometimes I’d like to get him away from the bank to run his own business, such as bookshop or a farm.

As for me—I love my ecology and quite enjoyed teaching despite my grumbles to the contrary—however, I’m not sure being a manager is my forte, which is what a professor is. The managing director of a department in a university. One day I’ll give notice because I doubt Tom will come back. Perhaps I’ll become a film maker or independent ecological consultant—or perhaps, I’ll just retire and become the Lady of the manor or open a bike shop.

“Mummy, what’s for tea?” brought an end to my reverie.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2758 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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It looked like I’d be teaching again, more ecology—I should be able to do this in my sleep, after all I taught it for three years here plus bits and pieces elsewhere. The problem is that I haven’t done it for a while and my head has been full of football with Danielle, or the rugby world cup with Si and Daddy, other various domestic events like Trish asking where she could buy some plutonium to see if it was possible to build an atomic bomb using household appliances only. Added to this were minor things like staff shortages, the accounts department trying to cut my budgets, the mammal survey having some problems with dodgy records and it might be easy to see that my functioning brain cell was refusing to remember much about the ecology of meadowland.

Then as I was getting some fuel in Tesco’s service station when who should I run into but that dotty witch woman, Ariadne something or other, Dougal—that’s it, Ariadne Dougal. She always looks, to me at least, as if she’s about to audition for a designer witch. She must have money because all her clothes are from up market designers, but they’re always black. She doesn’t wear a pointy hat or carry a broomstick round with her but she might as well. At forty plus, I doubt she’d naturally have a head of black hair, there’d be a few white ones, but no, everything is so black it almost has a bluish sheen to it. She’s quite tall but wears very high heels, and talks with a plummy accent.

I was in a hurry and didn’t have time to talk, I never do when I run into someone I’d rather avoid. “Oh, Lady Cameron, how nice to see you again.”

“Mrs Dougal,” I nodded back while standing in the queue to pay for the forty quid’s worth of diesel I’d just shoved in the car and the pack of doughnuts I’d got for Diane, the technician and one for li’l ol’ me.

“Oh, Ariadne, please, Lady Cameron.”

“In which case it’s just Cathy, then.” Not that I wanted to be on first name terms with Harry Potter’s granny.

“Cathy, it is. Have you given any more thought to committing to the cause?”

I wondered what she was on about—probably joining the local coven or some such thing and I decided dancing naked round bonfires wasn’t for me, even if they were offering tuna jacket potatoes afterwards. “Uh, not really, too busy with the family and running a university.”

“A university? Really?”

“Well one faculty.”

“That would make you a professor?”

“Yes of biological science. Excuse me, pump number six—yes forty pounds,” I handed over the money and my points card—well every little helps, so they say.

“I am in esteemed company, how wonderful and so young.”

“I’m sorry, Ariadne, I have to dash, got two people off sick and am having to do extra teaching.”

“Of course, I understand, do take care.” She offered her black gloved hand and I stupidly took it. “Oh the goddess is so strong in you, my dear, you should commit to her, you know.”

“Maybe another day, eh. May the force be with you, too,” I said and rushed off to my car realising then I’d used a quote from Star Wars. Perhaps I could tell her I was an apprentice Jedhi next time we met, though where I’d find a light sabre might prove difficult—obviously Trish’s next project to build me one possibly if she has time before constructing her atom bomb.

I arrived exhausted at my office asked Diane to make some tea and dropped the doughnuts on her desk. Her eyes lit up at the sight of the cholesterol enriched diabetes aids—they’d help you acquire it. I didn’t care I’d not had any breakfast, we all overslept and getting the girls to school was one big hassle.

When she entered with a cup of life saver and my share of the LDL* I was stuck into my notes on meadowland ecology. I could probably wing it, but I had a quick check on the CD I had with the photos on—quite a few of cowpats. They support all sorts of insects and fungi. Loads of photos of plants, some with insects on them, others which are important for foodplants for a diverse number of butterflies and moths. I had one or two of infestations of hedgerows with the webs of caterpillars—they can actually kill bushes or trees if there’s enough of them. I also had some piccies of mammals—voles, deer, mice—harvest mice are so delicious, such dainty little things and so on. I finished with a couple of bird pictures of pigeons, starlings and even some gulls—they often roost inland, finally I had some pictures of greylag geese—a small flock of geese eat as much grass as a sheep, so belong in our catalogue of grassland species.

If I get bored or stuck I can always get them to identify the pictures—I probably will anyway, it tends to identify those who are likely to want to get involved in survey work—if you know what you’re looking for, it kinda helps.

When John the technician brought in a tray of things which live in the grass or under it, some of the girls were unimpressed. Possibly they don’t like handling leather jackets or earthworms, yellow underwing moths or meadow brown butterflies, hunting spiders or snails. Trish and I collected them from the orchard the night before. The spider was in one of those bug pots with a magnifying top, the butterfly and moth were already dead when we found them and the earthworm was wriggling about in a glass box of soil.

When I asked Jon to bring out the tray of fresh cowpats, they all groaned or squealed—I was only joking anyway. Did I mention that the girls outnumber the boys on the course by three to one? Well they do. Sadly none of them seem to have much in the way of operational cerebral neurones, as it took over five minutes to get someone to tell me what the dominant type of plant would be in a meadowland ecology.

A rather pretty but extremely dim specimen of young womanhood sitting in the front suggested an oak tree as the dominant species. I asked her why and she declared it was taller than anything else and therefore dominant. It was only when I asked, “Okay, let’s try it another way, what’s the dominant species in grassland?” Can you believe someone said, ‘sheep.’

“What’s another name for grass or meadowland?” I asked I hoped implying I meant in this country. Obviously the implication wasn’t stressed enough because the answer came back as ‘prairies’. “So what’s the dominant species there?” I asked in desperation and got back, ‘buffalo.’

At this point I was about to hand in my notice and join an enclosed order of nuns, when someone asked, “Do you mean grass, professor?”

*LDL – low density lipo-protein or bad cholesterol.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2759 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 was really glad when three o’clock came around and I could escape to relative sanity and a chat with the cat—well she’d make more sense than some of the nincompoops we call undergraduates. Why did it take several minutes for someone to state the obvious? What’s the dominant species on grassland? Did they think it was a trick question?

I collected a load of children and Hannah asked if she could sit in the front with me. The others voiced no objections so it looked like a set up.

“Mummy, will you adopt me?”

“Might we talk about this at home?”

“Oh all right—I’m serious, you know?”

“I’m sure you are, sweetheart.” I deflected all other questions or statements until we got home and even then sent her up to change which threw her a little, but she complied. Finally, she came back down and clutching her biscuit and drink followed me into my study. I placed my cuppa on my desk and gave her a hug after she put her drink down as well.

“What did you do that for?” she asked after I hugged her.

“In case I can’t give the answers you want me to, I wanted to show I still love you.”

She eyed me suspiciously, “I want you to adopt me like you have all the others.”

“You already have a mother.”

“So do the others, except Livvie.” She’d done her homework which surprised me.

“I didn’t mean it like that, sweetheart, I meant your birth mother seems prepared to let you stay with us and I’d hate to remind her you were here.”

“As if she’s likely to forget that you’re my mummy now.”

“I’m aware she knows where you are but I suspect if we do anything to change much she might not be as cooperative.”

“You mean you don’t want to adopt me?”

“Hannah, I should love to be able to offer you the security that adoption would give you but I suspect that Ingrid would do all she could to stop us.”

“Why? She doesn’t care what happens to me as long as she doesn’t have to do anything.”

“That is probably true but I suspect she’d suddenly be very interested in you if I put in a request to adopt you.”

“So that’s it then?”

“No it isn’t, but we have to be a bit more clever, we need to show that she hasn’t shown any interest in you for the several months you’ve been here. Has she tried to contact you?”

“Once by text—I told her to go away.”

“And she didn’t come back to you?”

“Trish showed me how to block her, didn’t get any afterwards.”

“Look, can we leave it for a while longer before we try anything and while we’re waiting I’ll try and speak to the solicitor who helped me adopt Trish and Meems and Livvie. We had a bit of trouble initially.”

“Is that because you used to be a boy?”

“Who told you that?”

“Ingrid, she said you want everyone else’s children to try and pretend you’re a woman.”

“Did she, what d’you think about that?”

“I don’t care you’re a better mother to me than she ever was even if you can’t have babies. I don’t think she can anymore neither.”

I wondered if that was true and if it would mean she would fight hard to keep Hannah, being unable to have any other children?

“She had an abortion and it messed her up inside. I’d have liked a brother or sister but having Trish and Livvie is like having sisters.”

“Good, I’m glad you think of them like your sisters, I’m sure they think of you in the same way.”

“Yeah, but I want my name to be Cameron too.”

“Being a member of this family is more than just having Cameron as a surname.”

“No but it would help.”

“I’m sure it would but it could also remind Ingrid and cause a negative reaction.”

“It won’t, I asked her.”

This child was full of surprises. “When?” I asked thinking it was months ago.

“Last week, I phoned her up and said I wanted you to adopt me and change my name to Cameron.”

I nearly choked on my tea.

“You called her?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I’m surprised, that’s all.”

“Well I didn’t want her to get in the way—she was screwing some bloke and I interrupted her, she said yes very quickly to get rid of me.”

“So she might not say yes if she had a moment to think about it.”

“Dunno, she seemed to be glad to get shot of me.”

“If we try for adoption, we need to be sure it’s going to work.”

“I’d much rather live with you as my mother, at least you talk to me an’ buy me things.”

I hoped the latter wasn’t the reason for this sudden surge of interest in joining us officially, though I could hardly ask her as it must be tough enough as it is. Should I just trust what she says to be exactly as she said it or was she manipulating me with or without the help of Trish and Livvie? Or am I just getting old and cynical?

I needed to end this conversation on a positive but otherwise inactive note, the last thing I needed was Ingrid on my back either trying to get me to pay her off or going to a tabloid. I couldn’t stop her but if she did the latter I’d make sure the press knew the truth about her and her proclivities as a lady of the night.

I didn’t need to adopt any more children, I had too many to look after now at the same time having shown Hannah the advantages of a supportive family and good school, I could hardly tell her I was bored with the project now and to go away. I had to continue my support and thus that of the family as long as she needed it and that would certainly be easier if she were an official member of it. Sometimes I think to much.

I promised Hannah that we’d try when it was most opportune and although she wasn’t officially a Cameron, as far as I was concerned, she’d be treated exactly the same as those who were. She didn’t look entirely convinced but that was as much as I’d commit plus of course to speak with Mr Henstridge to try and forestall any legal hiccups that could arise either as a deliberate ploy by Ingrid or simply by dint of the legal process. I told her these things were expensive and although we were a relatively wealthy family, we had to be a bit careful with our money as legal fees could soon mount up to huge sums in a very short time. I wasn’t sure if she believed me.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2760 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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Hannah left me with yet more to think about, as if I didn’t have enough to begin with and proved we all have different priorities. The only difference being that children are more honest about them, adults keep them hidden because exposure can appear as weakness or allow others to take advantage of you or them.

It’s very sad that in a world which is brimming with danger and natural disasters our biggest worry is other humans. Just look at the world today, hundreds killed in mudslides in South America, millions displaced by civil war in Syria. As a species we really take the biscuit for being the most iniquitous to ever walk the face of this planet. We have a capacity for cooperation which can move mountains, most of the time, we only employ it to fight each other. We might be the most highly developed species in the galaxy or even the universe and we spend our time and resources killing each other—stupid or what? No wonder I love dormice.

The next day saw me doing the introduction to ecology for yet another starter class. I racked my brain cell to give me something different to talk about, in the end I decided to do the ecology of students, something I hadn’t done for a while. Initially they were amused then bemused as I got them to list characteristics of a typical student. Much of it began as tongue in cheek then it became more serious and even cause for heated disagreements.

We looked at its natural habitat a combination of bed/student’s union bar and university campus. I decided we’d leave out the take away and Poundland. Ecology is about looking at species with regard to their habitat, so the three I’d opted for seemed suitable.

When we looked at threats to our species, they varied from warfare or terrorism to alcohol poisoning or the Inland Revenue. When I queried the latter, it had been suggested because it was said graduates were likely to earn much more than non-graduates and thus pay more taxes. As this was futuristic and reality would also show a percentage of graduates currently could either only get low paid jobs or were unemployed while others flew through the experience and continued soaring towards the stars—ahem, well one or two

Risks became failure to continue and those then became things like failing exams and being sent down. Predators, that was interesting as men students talked about other criteria as threats including the tax man and other students/competition for jobs. Whereas the women complained about predatory males, which later became a general misogyny as women were usually discriminated against in regard job selection or pay.

When I asked if this had applied to acceptance by the university to do this course they decided it hadn’t—and that was pretty well unanimous. So we were doing one thing right.

I won’t say the two hours flew past but most of them stayed awake so I’d consider that a positive feature. It didn’t feel as spontaneous as the first time I did it, but I didn’t have quite the burden of office weighing me down in those days. I spent the rest of the day doing admin tasks that a trained monkey could do but don’t tell them, they’ll look to reduce my salary to peanuts.

On walking through the playground to collect the mouseketeers I bumped into the headmistress and as I’d been seen I couldn’t sneak out again and come in behind her. “Lady Cameron, how lovely to see you again.”

I nodded and muttered, “Headmistress,” like I was practicing to play Marlon Brando.

“You haven’t given anymore thought to my proposition, have you?”

“Which one is that.” I stopped a few steps further on. I had no recollection of her asking me to do something.

“Oh dear, you haven’t forgotten?” she looked shocked.

“I think it’s probably more a case of not having remembered, headmistress.”

The edges of her mouth crinkled upwards and she chuckled quietly. “Doesn’t that mean the same?”

“Different emphasis,” I declared.

“I hadn’t noticed.”

I smiled and hoped I wasn’t blushing. I also hoped that my supposed ‘knowing look’ might prevent her from asking in that it would prove her ignorance. It worked, she was distracted and when some little girls came haring down the corridor nearly knocking us both over, the distraction prove enough for me to slip away while she was reading the riot act to two six year olds. I grabbed the troops and we hightailed it home.

Once there I asked Trish if Sister Maria had asked me to do anything lately. She didn’t seem to think so and I began to think I was being conned by our diminutive headmistress. She’s clever enough to do it and certainly has the nerve for it. That I wasn’t caught was fortuitous and proof that I might be almost as wily as the head teacher.

I still find it difficult to reconcile my own total lack of religious belief and the sending of my girls to a convent school. I know it was started by Trish being refused entry by council schools because of the problem with toilets, or so they said—it might offend some parents. I almost answered, ‘screw the parents’ it appears I’m not allowed to upset their narrow minds, but they can do exactly that to me and mine. As Danny said the other day, why should we be pilloried we’ve done nothing wrong, just tried to be ourselves? Ironically, she’s probably the least inclined to do that of the transgender legion in our house.

I reflected on a question that had been raised during my lecture on grassland ecology. A young woman had asked how I knew the hedgerow I’d shown a picture of was hundreds of years old; couldn’t someone have planted it ten years ago, not hundreds?

It was actually the best question I’d been asked for some time. I explained that the dating of hedgerows as a bit of an inexact science compared to DNA analysis or carbon dating. It used something called Hooper’s rules and basically you take a thirty metres of hedgerow and count the number of woody species in it, there are some notable exclusions, eg English elms. Seeing as there aren’t too many of those about these days, it isn’t a great problem. Having arrived at your number you multiply it by a hundred and that gives you roughly the age of the hedge. If you can find supporting literature such as ancient plans or deeds or just mention in old documents, then the rule can be proven. Apparently Dr Max Hooper worked for the Nature Conservancy Council back in the nineteen seventies. I think we might have one in the university library but I saw it in a book by Oliver Rackham.

The study of hedgerows is fascinating especially in a place like the United Kingdom because of the need to display ownership or various laws—the Enclosure Acts—which enabled a land grab by the wealthy taking what was once considered common land, that is land in common ownership by a community, and declaring it their own and then planting a hedge or putting a fence or wall around it. Millions of acres were stolen by the wealthy between 1604 and 1914. The First World War changed the social structures possibly as much as the black death did in the thirteenth century.

From it through pressure by the suffragettes, women began to achieve the vote although it took a further ten years before it was universal to all adult women, something that New Zealand pipped us to by ten years.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2761 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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The weekend dawned and while Simon, Tom and Danielle would be glued to the rugby on the television, I’d be stuck doing chores, the mammal survey, conveying the girls around or watching them at home.

I was informed on the Friday evening that both Trish and Livvie were playing for the school team, only to discover that Danielle was as well. Could I take them to the school and collect them? I went and spoke to Danni. “I thought you were playing on Sunday?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“So how come you’re playing for the school as well?”

“That’ll be more like a training session than a real game.”

“As soon as they realise you’re an England schools international you’re going to get hammered. How will you play again tomorrow if you’re injured?”

“By the time they realise we’ll be three goals up and I can hang around defending and sending up long or through balls to our forwards.”

“I know you agreed to show some loyalty to the school for them accepting you, but it’s not fair that you could be injured by some cart horse which could then compromise your professional career.”

“You worry too much, Mummy. It’s like playing with little kids compared to playing against boys—some of them are right thugs.”

“Some girls can be as bad, so don’t underestimate them.”

“Yeah, I know, but I can give as good as I get you know.”

“Well don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Oh, Mummy, look come and watch tomorrow and I’ll show you what I mean.”

“I was going to do the shopping,”

“You never come and watch these days an’ I’ll bet Trish an’ Livvie would play better if they thought you were there.”

“I’ll take you I’m not committing until I see what I’ve got to do in the morning.” I hated to sound such a wet blanket but I do have loads to do. All I needed then was someone to ask me to do a dormouse survey. It wasn’t quite what happened...

My mobile rang and I could see it was Helen. “Hello Helen.”

“Hi, Cathy, we’ve got a bit of a situation with that woodland.”

“The one they were trying to clear for solar panels?”

“Yes, that one. The landowner has reneged on his word and started to fell more trees.”

“How many more?”

“About a quarter of the wood.”

“Have you informed the council?”

“I don’t need to, I’m issuing a court order as soon as I can get a magistrate to sign it.”

“Inform the council there are dormice there, ask them to revoke the planning permission.”

“Will they do that?”

“It’s got to be worth a try.”

“Can’t do that until Monday, damn. Why does everything happen on weekends?”

“Because very cynical people know you can’t do anything and even if I was say there were a dozen dormice in the wood they’d only fine him twelve thousand, if that, he’ll make more than that selling the timber.”

“Just thought I’d let you know.”

“I’ll get the kids to start a facebook campaign or twitter storm or whatever.”

“Why not?”

“Have you any pictures?”

“Yeah, you want some?”

“Please, I’ll think up some catchy slogan and get Trish to shove it on the internet. Don’t use ones that you use in court.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty.”

Trish and Sammi went to town as soon as we received the photos. We showed a picture of a dormouse and one of the felled trees and used the caption. This was my home, I was made homeless illegally by someone who promised they wouldn’t fell the trees. Now I know I can’t trust humans—unless you can prove me wrong.

We gave the site as well and posted it on facebook, Sammi also did a tweet with photos. I went off to sort the laundry and by the time I’d finished, they’d had twenty thousand hits—it was going viral. Trish was in her element, ‘Save our dormouse wood,’ was the title and she was chatting to people from all over the place.

I went to bed learning that the best part of a hundred thousand had visited the page in four hours. The next morning I was delivering the three soccer stars to the school when my phone peeped to indicate a text.

‘There’s c100 people here chaining themselves to trees. Helen.’

I switched on Radio Solent a local BBC station and they confirmed that protesters had descended on a woodland to stop the felling of trees and to protect the dormice who live there. Goodness, just when you think humans are the worst thing since bubonic plague, they do something good.

“Is that from our facebook page, Mummy?”

“That and your tweets.”

“Wow,” was Danielle’s assessment, “will it stop the trees coming down?”

“I hope so, although masses of damage has been done.”

“Serve him right if they made him put them all back,” was Livvie’s pronouncement.”

“I hope they make him replant but it will take decades to return to the mature wood it was.”

“Will many dormice have died?” asked Trish.

“I don’t know sweetheart.”

“Have you asked Daddy to bankrupt him?”

“We can’t do that, sweetheart, it would be unethical.”

I heard Trish talking to someone on her phone. “He’s gonna see if the man owes them any money. If he does they might see if they can call it in because he didn’t tell them the situation had changed and that he was breaking the law.”

“Oh—perhaps that wouldn’t be illegal? Clever girl.”

She puffed out her chest, “Can I be a lawyer and a scientist, Mummy?”

“I’m sure it’s possible but it would take years to qualify in both.”

“So, you mean I could be like fourteen?”

Danni nearly choked laughing, but the irony was that she could well be at university by that age, though to do a science or law degree would take her three or more years. Not only that but my great aunt had left her some money to use when she went to university. If I remember she said she’d spoken with Girton College Oxford, but they’ve not been in touch and I’d like to see where Trish would like to go when the time arises and that to an extent would be determined by what she wanted to study and her exam results. I’m always anxious that very gifted people get complacent or arrogant and things never quite work out for them. Diligent and determined students tend to do better because they take nothing for granted and put the hours in.

I watched the two soccer games, St Claire’s were all over the opposition in both games. Trish was easily the outstanding player in her match, setting up a goal and scoring one. Livvie did quite well but she seems to lack the total commitment that Trish and Danni have especially in the tackle and which might come from having lived as boys and played against boys.

Danni was in another league in her game and it showed. She scored a hat-trick and set up two more goals in their five nil drubbing of their opponents from Waterlooville. I heard as I waiting for her to change after the game, that the opponents complained that she must be older because she played with such maturity.

However, the games teacher who runs the soccer teams put her right about age but did drop she had played for England schoolgirls. That brought fourth another volley of protests but as our teacher said, she’d done nothing wrong except have more than her share of talent. A nice way to put it.

“Can we go and see the wood, Mummy?” asked Trish and I felt just as curious as she was.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2762 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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The drive up to the wood was uneventful until we got near to the top of the hill and there were cars parked along both sides of the road and bunging up gateways to fields as well. Given the situation as it was, I spotted a gap and managed to park my Jaguar in between a car and VW camper–probably owned by a hippie, friends of the earth type.

I know I’m stereotyping but I imagine him as handknitted sweaters and corduroy pants and her as ethnic print ankle length skirts. They probably both have long hair in ponytails. They may be Guardian readers or perhaps the Independent and they feel passionately about the environment, though their driving force is more likely to be emotional than logical. Having said that I appealed to their emotions to try and prevent more damage occurring, though if I really plan to stop him, it will have to be with science. The court will require that we can demonstrate reasonable evidence of the presence of dormice and show that the actions of the landowner are hazardous to these protected animals. Mind you it seems bleedin’ obvious that if the things live in trees and depend upon them for food and shelter, then chopping down the aforementioned trees will have a deleterious effect upon them.

A little further up the road we spotted Helen’s Land Rover and from slightly ahead of that the sound of multiple voices and the blue flashing lights of a police car or two. We walked a little faster and sure enough there was quite a crowd of people chanting, ‘Save the trees,’ or it might have something about cheesemakers. “Save our dormice,” shouted the crowd and of course Trish joined in yards before we got to them.

“Ah Professor,” Helen called to me beckoning, she had a uniformed policeman with a lot of braid on his hat and shoulders, “this is Chief Inspector Godrick. Chief Inspector, this is Professor Watts, the leading expert on dormice and woodland ecology.”

“Professor,” nodded the copper. “So it was you who started this melee was it?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Inspector.”

“Wasn’t it you who stuck this on the internet and encouraged all these hooligans to support you, stopping a farmer from going about his lawful business?”

“No, that was me,” said Trish loudly.

“I’m talking to your mother,” so beat it little girl was implied but not said.

“She doesn’t know how to get on facebook or tweet, she’s too thick.”

I blushed but I recognised what she was doing, drawing his fire because he could hardly do anything to a child in front of the press, and I spotted someone moving forward with a large camcorder.

“Look here um...”

“Trish,” she stood to her full height.

“Trish, I can’t believe you’re capable of stirring up this hornet’s nest.”

“She probably is,” said Helen, then added quietly, “she has the IQ of rocket scientist.”

“Yes but she’s only...”

“I’m ten, so I know what I’m talking about. Just ‘cos I’m a kid people don’t take me seriously, but I’ve helped you lot catch a couple of criminals...” I watched the copper reject this simply by his body language. “...An’ my mother’s caught lots for you, but you’re too dumb to see it.”

The copper stiffened and was about to say something when I intervened, she could tell him where to go but she had to remain civil. He looked at me. I didn’t look anything special having stood around for two hours watching my girls play soccer. “Should I know you?” he said.

“I told you, she’s Professor Watts, the country’s leading expert on dormice,” said Helen.

“Dormouse lady,” he muttered then after a tiny pause said, “Lady Dormouse,” he flinched and looked carefully at me. “You’re Lady something or other as well aren’t you?” the look he gave me was like he’d just sat in something cold and wet.”

“She’s Lady Cameron, don’t you know anything?” Trish lumped into him.

“Trish, please, don’t be so rude.”

“Well, he’s thicker than you.” She wandered off in apparent disgust with Danni who was itching to see the people chained to the trees.
“Be careful girls,” I shouted after them.

“Don’t tell me your other girl is international sport’s personality of the year?”

“No, but she has played for England ladies in soccer.”

“I don’t believe this,” he muttered, “I’ve got a riot on my hands and I’ve just met the Addam’s family.”

Helen snorted.

“I think the others might be more at risk from them,” muttered the copper. “Professor um Lady Cameron, why did you start this business.”

“I didn’t, Imspector Godrick.”

“Uh, Chief Inspector,” he said as if to suggest he could assert his status as well.

“Quite, Inspector,” I continued deliberately ignoring his comment, “I didn’t start anything, the hooligan is the farmer who continued to damage this site despite being informed there were dormice present and being requested to desist the felling by the Natural England officer, Helen. We conducted a survey a few days ago and concluded that there was sufficient evidence to say dormice were present in the woodland with near certainty.”

“Ah, so you can’t be sure then?” said the Inspector firmly.

“No, because the vandals with the chainsaws and mechanical diggers might have killed them all. He’s disturbing a protected animal, it’s he who should be arrested.”

“Are you trying to tell me how to do my job, Lady Cameron?”

“Good gracious no,” I said and could have added, but Trish would have.

“My first priority is to protect people, though some of them climbing trees and chaining themselves to the top is making that very difficult.”

“If you stopped the landowner vandalising the site I could possibly persuade most of them to go home.”

“If we can’t stop them, I doubt even someone as clever as your daughter couldn’t do it.”

“I didn’t say Trish, I said I would ask them to disperse but only if you can promise to stop the felling.”

“I can’t tell a landowner what to do on his land.”
“If he’s committing a crime, you can.”

“What crime?” boy, Trish was right he is dumber than I.

“Helen could you please inform this gentleman which section of the Wildlife and countryside act prevents disturbance or harm to dormice. I must go and see where my girls are.”

I walked off quite quickly leaving Helen to sort out our dim guardian of the law. In a few minutes I found a whole group of people standing around and laughing. When I got to the back of the crowd I could see Trish standing on a fallen tree, saying something and making them laugh. Danni said something to her and she stopped in mid-sentence and looked at the throng before her, “My mummy is here somewhere, yes, there she is. She’s the one you want to speak to you.”

I pushed my way through, “What have you been saying to them?” I hissed at her wondering how I was going to follow her address, which was probably something like the address by the King before Agincourt in Henry V.

“Nothin’, just thankin’ them for savin’ the wood.”

“Okay,” I cleared my throat as I turned round to face our supporters, perhaps this was my chance to do a Jack Kennedy during the Bay Of Pigs crisis. The crowd fell silent. “Uh, thanks for coming to help us save this woodland, which I’m pretty certain has dormice occupying it–oh, I’m Cathy Watts, professor of biological sciences at Portsmouth and I suppose I do know bit about dormice.”

“You got one in yer bra, then Cathy?” called some wag from the back causing a ripple of laughter to travel faster then the blush which was speeding up my body.

“Not today,” I smiled embarrassedly.

“Pity,” he called back. Typical bloke, got to make mention of anything slightly risque.

Right, how do I ask them all to go home? Oh well, here goes...

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2763 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.
@@@@@

I stood surrounded by expectant faces and felt my buttocks clench in anticipation or should that be dread? “Friends and fellow protectors of this wonderful planet and all its denizens, thank you so much for coming to help us save this wood, which I believe supports a colony of dormice. You will all be aware that dormice are protected animals so the felling of the wood is a criminal act, once the owner had been informed of their presence. I know for a fact that he was informed and asked to cease the felling and tree clearance. He did for a few days then started again thinking we’d forget or ignore it. I think your attendance here today proves he made a number of miscalculations.

“I’m sure you all have better things to do than stand around here all day, so I am proposing that if everyone goes home soon, the police will stop him doing any further clearance of the wood land. I therefore propose that if the police agree to such a contract then you can all go home and the wood should be safe from further damage. Might I therefore ask for a general agreement from everyone so I can go and negotiate with the police?”

There was a lot of mutterings and several people were seemingly far from happy with my suggestion. I suppose some of them wished to take on the forces of oppression/law and order, but that wasn’t in my plan. I suppose it was a calculated risk a bit like Pandora and her box.

“How do we know the landowner will accept the agreement?”

“We don’t, but only a fool would try to stiff the system. I’m led to believe Natural England are trying to get the planning permission revoked for the solar farm and a court order to prevent further demolition and clearing of the woodland.”

“So why don’t we wait until that arrives then? If he clears the wood entirely, there won’t be anyway of restoring it will there, an’ I’ve seen too many of them. Sorry your worships, my hired help or contractors misunderstood my instructions, I only asked them to tidy up the edges? Want anymore examples?”

I looked at the protestor, a man in his middle thirties and obviously not an anarchist judging by his appearance with good looking outfit of clothing and he was also quite well spoken.

“There is a small risk but that of someone getting hurt is too much for me to bear and is also why the police are so agitated.”

“So you’re tellin’ me that a few protesters falling out of trees is worth more than a whole colony of dormice?” asked another man, a bit older and more careworn.

“According to the law, people come before dormice.”

“Isn’t that bloody typical, we’re running amok like two legged locusts and yet we’re more important than those harmless, inoffensive animals. Isn’t that what is wrong with this bloody world? I say we stay.”

Obviously an agitator looking for confrontation, bugger, why didn’t I stay home? I raised my hand and asked for quiet, it took longer than when I first addressed them.

“I’m sorry you feel like that, but there is only one way to protect and conserve these animals and their habitats and that’s using the rule of law.”

“That’s what you always say–you’re nothing more than a toadie to the forces of oppression.” His fan club was obviously with him ready to cause a riot as soon as he gave the signal. Oh boy this was getting more dangerous by the moment.

“If you believe that then you are obviously mistaken. Once we step outside the rule of law we have nothing. It is only the law which has enabled us to have the time to study and decide which of these animals are in trouble and this deserve protection. I accept we don’t always get it right but if you take the course of confrontation you are most certainly going to get it wrong.”

“Bloody tories, we know your sort, go back to your bank Cameron and let the common people sort this out once and for all.” He was about to give his mates the get go and a most extraordinary thing occurred. Trish walked out in front of me and into the centre of the assemblage. She raised her hand for quiet. A general mutter ran through the crowd some of whom were looking for trouble and others who were looking to leave before it started.

“Excuse me, sir, but it was me who asked you all to come. Yes my daddy is bank director with High Street Bank, but at this moment he is investigating who is funding the damage to this wood. If it’s our bank and the law is being broken, he has told me he will ask for his money back because we don’t fund crimes. He also said, if it was another bank, he’d ask them to do the same–my daddy usually gets what he wants.

“Mummy is right, once we stop obeying the law people get hurt and there is nothing to protect them from people who might want to hurt them. I’m only a schoolgirl but even I can see we need rules or nothing gets done. If we do something really silly now like fightin’ the police, you and they will get hurt and there’ll be no one left to look after the dormice. I came here to help them not have a fight. Only silly people fight, clever ones negotiate to get what they want. So I ask you to let my mummy talk to the police and let them protect the dormice and make the farmer man pay for the damage he’s caused already. That’s what I think anyway...”

A huge cheer went up as she finished speaking and I felt so proud of her as well as being totally choked. Where does she get the balls to do this sort of thing–I couldn’t have at her age, I was too busy trying to avoid my parents finding my latest stash of girl’s magazines and clothing. She really is something special.

The trouble makers were isolated and began to slink away as people called for me to speak to the police and let them uphold the law, which is their primary function. I left Danni and Trish talking to people as I dashed down to see Helen and Inspector plod.

“The anarchists are leaving,” I told her, “seen off by a ten year old with more persuasive powers than any politician.”

“Oh?” said the plod his mouth open like goldfish.

“If you can agree to protect the wood and prevent any further damage, I’ll ask everyone to disperse.”

“I’ve spoken to my superiors and we can agree to that,” said the copper.

“A court order is on its way, I shall have it delivered to the owner as soon as it gets here,” said Helen, “ordering him to cease and desist felling the wood.”

“In which case, my officers will support it to the letter. If he so much as picks a blade of grass we’ll arrest him.”

“If you’d done that in the first place as we asked you, this could have been avoided,” I said hoping to load guilt on that gold braid.

“If you’d done that in the first place we would have supported you,” replied the copper.

“Mummy, I’ve told them all to go home–can we go and get some dinner now?” was piped up from beside me and I felt her arm around my waist.

“What a good idea, sweetheart, what a good idea.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2764 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.
*****

The meal we had was delicious, a paella with all sorts of goodies like prawns and mussels as well as pieces of meat. David doesn’t do them very often because he has to cook and serve them, usually, I do the dishing up of food. Apparently, Danielle had mentioned to him that he hadn’t made one for ages and he succumbed to the request. However, he wasn’t so impressed that we were late. I thanked him for hanging on and invited him to eat with us. He declined, he usually does but asked if he could see me about something when I had time. He apparently wasn’t doing anything later, so I told him to call back in an hour and I’d speak with him.

He arrived about seven and we went to my study. I offered him a cup of tea but he joked that he’d been drinking it all day, so it would hardly be a treat. I wondered why he’d come and I suspected so did he.

Finally we got to the point of his request. “Look, Cathy, I have a friend who needs some help.”

“What sort of help?”

“Work, he’s been unemployed for a year.”

“I don’t have any magic potions, nor do I need any more staff, either here or at the university.”

“I wondered if you knew anyone who needed someone.”

“Not offhand, tell me a bit about him and I’ll ask around. Does he have any special skills or training?”

“Okay, I’ll get the shock horror bit over first. He’s like me, a transman.”

“David, the only one who thinks of you as that in this household, is you. The rest of us see you as just a guy who performs miracles with food.” He blushed and I smiled.

“Yeah, well Monty is...”

“Monty?”

“Yeah, it’s his name all right?”

“Okay, okay, tell me about Monty,” I managed to keep my face straight. I mean we changelings tend to call ourselves who we feel we are. Mind you there are plenty of strange names in all areas of life these days. I’ll stick with my conventional one and matching lifestyle.

“More shock horror, he’s been inside.”

“Inside—where?”

“Prison, stir, nick—don’t you aristocrats know anything?”

“I’d have thought you’d have said porridge being a cook of sorts.”

“Touché.” He shook his head and I grinned smugly at him.

“What was he in for?”

“Receiving, I think he said.”

“How equipped is he to do physical work?”

“He’s twenty nine, so should be okay.”

“And how far along the path is he?”

“Dunno if he’s had a willie-plasty...” I burst out laughing at this. “Okay, a phalloplasty, but he’s had his breasts and breeding bits removed.”

“I wondered if Maureen had need of some further assistance.”

“That would be brilliant.”

“I’m not promising anything but I’ll speak to her, I shall tell her about the criminal record and at most engineer an interview, the rest will be out of my hands and entirely up to Maureen if she has any vacancies.”

“You’re a star, Cathy.”

“Yeah, so how about making this star a cuppa, I’ve got work to do—”I pointed at the computer.

“Coming up, boss,” he said and almost trotted out of the room.

Picking up the phone I called Maureen and explained the situation. “If I have anything, it could be short term but it gets him a couple of pay packets. Tell him to call me, anything else, ma’am?”

“I think the fence could do with a coat of preservative.”

“It’s only two years old, ma’am.”

“I’d like it to last a few more.”

“You’re the boss, ma’am—might send our newest recruit round if he’s up to scratch.”

“Please don’t mention my part in this, and send me a proper bill this time—I can afford it you know?”

“I know, ma’am, but you put me on my feet when I was in a very dark place an’ you saved my life—I don’t forgets them who helped me.”

“For goodness sake, Maureen, that’s all a long time ago and no one is keeping a record of it.”

“I am, ma’am, an’ nothin’ you say will stop me rememberin’ your kindness.” I almost blushed.

David appeared with my cuppa, “Tell your friend to call this number, the work will be physical, so I hope he’s fit—oh and I’d prefer it if my name wasn’t mentioned.”

“But if he gets the job, it’ll be due to your string pulling.”

“No; it will be due to him impressing Maureen that she needs to employ him. If he doesn’t, he won’t get a job.”

“I’ll tell him, but he knows I was going to ask you.”

“Well you can take the credit instead, you know Maureen, tell him you asked her yourself.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am, now clear off I’m busy.”

“Aye aye, cap’n.”

“Any more of that and you’ll be walking the plank.” I heard a loud laugh coming from the direction in which he’d left. So nobody takes me seriously, unless of course they want something.

I did an hour on the survey while the girls amused themselves. A while after that I got a text from Danni to say they were nearly at the stadium could I collect her. I didn’t have much choice. I told the girls to get themselves ready for bed and went off to collect their sister. The drive to Fratton was uneventful though it felt strange having to use headlights again. I can’t say I enjoy driving in the dark even with the powerful headlights the Jaguar has. On the return leg with Danielle telling me she’d scored another goal, we stopped to move a hedgehog from the centre of the carriageway. I keep a pair of thick gloves in the boot of the car for such an eventuality and was in the process of relocating this spiny slug basher when some ignorant oik in an old Toyota shouted at me.

“What’s your problem?” I shouted back at him still carrying Spiny Norman from the road to the park alongside it.

“Stupid bitch, you’re blocking the road.”

“I’m not, there’s plenty of room.”

“What the hell have you got there?”

“A hedgehog.”

“Bloody vermin, spiny rats, that’s all they are.”

“Not even closely related, rats are rodents these are Erinacidae, a family in the order Insectivora.”

“Think you’re bleedin’ clever doncha, well obstructing the highway ain’t clever is it, you dozy cow.”

“Actually, it’s you who are obstructing the carriageway showing me what a complete wanker you are.” Then as if to agree with me someone behind him tooted their horn at him.

“Wanker am I?” he pulled off the road a few yards ahead of me. I’d just released the hedgehog which had curled into a ball. Mr Loudmouth stormed up towards me. “Wanker am I, you stuck up bitch, here’s what I think of your bleeding rat.” He raised his foot as if to stamp on the hedgehog and I shouted, “NO.” With that there was a blue flash and a moment later he was scrambling back to his feet looking very pale and took to running back to his car.

“You all right, Mummy?” asked Danni rushing from the car.

“I’m fine, though I’m not sure what happened then, I thought I was going to have to physically stop him hurting our little friend.” I glanced at Danielle who had a smirk on her face. “Okay, tell me what happened?”

She shrugged, “You were giving off the blue light and I sort of tuned into it and asked it to protect you and the hedgehog. It must of agreed ’cos the next moment he was flying through the ’edge—an’ didn’t he look surprised.”

“Is that actually what happened?”

“Yeah, course,” she said smirking.

“Well don’t do it again.”

She continued to wear a silly grin all the way home.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2765 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.
*****

I got the younger lot to bed and tried to stop Danielle boasting to her elder sisters about how she’d zapped the pig who wanted to stamp on the hedgehog. It seemed to me that it was probably the blue energy emanating from me that produced the shock and he fell over.

Trying to caution a teenager is a bit like trying to herd cats and just to prove the point Bramble appeared and determined she would do anything but what I wanted her to. I simply wanted to continue with my correspondence and go to bed, she wanted to sit on my lap with her tail up my nose. Three times I knocked her off my lap and she immediately jumped back up. Finally, I grabbed her opened the study door and threw her out but she was back in before I could close the door again and I agreed she could stay—a sort of unconditional surrender on my part. A word of advice—don’t argue with cats, you can’t possibly win.

After my comprehensive defeat and my acknowledgement by allowing her to sit on my lap again, she curled up, purred for a few minutes and went to sleep. Apparently cats are like teenagers—in more ways than one—and need about thirty six hours sleep a day.

Was this name for real, I had an email from a Nicholas Stoate. He’d listed details of roadkill mammals over a two mile stretch of road in Surrey. Five badgers, two foxes, eight bunnies, one roe deer and a partridge in a pear tree. I wrote and thanked him, he’d included an attachment google map to show me exactly where he meant so I accepted his records. He did offer photographs which I declined—looking at pictures of dead animals doesn’t do anything for me. At least there were no hedgehogs in his list. Still can’t get over his name and hope he didn’t read Wind in the Willows, as the stoats and weasels were the villains it could have given him a complex for life, especially as a child.

Bramble must have been dreaming because she jabbed her claws into my leg and my subsequent squeal—I’d almost forgotten she was there—made us both jump. She came off worse, jumping up and smacking her head on the underside of my desk, whereupon she jumped down to the floor shaking her head. I did hold up some fingers to her and asked her to tell me how many she could see—well they do it for concussion at rugby matches, so if rugby players can do it why not a superior life form? She declined to play along and scratched at the door to leave my study. I rose to let her out and send Danni to bed, it was a school day tomorrow, only to find she’d already gone, sent there by her dad. He was in a foul mood, Scotland he reckoned had been robbed of an historic victory over Australia by some incompetent refereeing. The Aussies scraped in by a single point.

I chose to make us a cup of tea rather than listen to his diatribe about poor refereeing except he followed on behind me and I had to listen to his tirade whether I wanted to or not. It was at this point the police car drew up in the drive. I wondered what was going on; as far as I knew everyone was home and safe.

Simon answered the door and a moment or two later appeared in the kitchen with Andy Bond. We exchanged pleasantries and then sat down with a cuppa. “Sorry, Cathy, but we’ve had a complaint.”

“Oh, about what?”

“Some bloke reckons he was assaulted by a witch on the way home from work.”

“So why are you coming to me?”

“Apparently she was driving a white Jaguar estate...”

“I’m sure there’s more than one of those in Portsmouth.”

“He described a blue flash.”

“Detached retina—apparently you see flashes.”

“It knocked him off his feet.”

“Ah. Is this a formal discussion or an informal one?”

“Why?”

“If I was to say I’d stopped to rescue a young hedgehog from the road and was putting it on the grass verge when he pulled alongside my car and began abusing me, calling me abusive names and telling me I was obstructing the highway.”

“Right, so he was actually abusing you?”

“Verbally, yes. I called him a masturbator using the vernacular term and the next minute he’s pulled up in front of me and jumping out to stamp on the hedgehog. I shouted no, as he raised his foot and the next moment there was a blue flash and he fell over. I didn’t actually do or say anything else. Obviously the blue energy took a protective stance for the hedgehog and me.”

“He was going to stamp on the hedgehog?” asked Andy for clarification.

“That’s what he said he was going to do.”

“Right, I shall tell him he’d be advised to drop his charges or we’ll charge him with abusive behaviour, threatening behaviour and intent to do cruelty to a wild animal. I shall also suggest he be charged with making false accusations against you.”

“What if he goes to the papers—the tabloids would love it?”

“Sorry, can’t do anything about that. Can’t your blue stuff protect itself against him, make him forget or whatever?”

“Pity it can’t make him a human being instead of the cocky ape he appeared to be,” I said, hoping I wasn’t precipitating anything further from my little helper.

Andy finished his tea and biscuit and left. I got a text an hour later to learn the matter had been resolved and charges had been dropped. I just hoped he was too dumb to think about talking to the tabloids. I could just see the headlines, ‘Harriet Potter zaps Portsmouth man. Argument with witch causes man to fly through the air and into bushes.’

I tried to go into myself and asked myself as a young woman if it was okay to continue. It appeared it was. I then asked if I should do anything to retaliate, it appeared the light had done that on my behalf—and caused more trouble. It seemed to suggest it would resolve itself. I decided to wait and see what happened next.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2766 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.
*****

I returned to my study and did some more work on the survey listening to a CD of Tchaikovsky’s Symphony number 5, which helped to smooth my ruffled feathers and I got through all the emails from the past week before Simon came to look for me.

“Oh Tchaikovsky, I like this one,” he said and sat down to listen to it. I pretended not to notice his conducting was pants.

The final track was the Marche Slav and he continued to sit there waving his fingers in time to the tune as if he was instructing an orchestra oblivious to my watching him and smiling—well okay, smirking. It made my efforts of musical megalomania seem in better time than his, not that I was exactly a budding Marin Alsop but I felt I had a better sense of timing than he did, being always a beat or two behind the orchestra.

“What are you grinning at?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I lied pretending to be innocent of any possible charge.

“So how come you resemble a Cheshire cat?”

“Meeee?”

“Yes—what was the last bit?”

“The music?”

“Duh—what else?” he rolled his eyes.

“Marche Slav.”

“Course,” he shook his head. “Put it on again will you?”

“What the whole thing?”

“Yeah, why not? I could do with calming down after learning my wife is a female Harry Potter.”

“I am not,” I protested.

“No, so what does zapping people with magic spells constitute then?”

“I didn’t zap him—well not deliberately.”

“No of course not, you did it unconsciously which probably makes you even more powerful than the aforementioned young Potter and even more dangerous.”

“How is Harry Potter dangerous—he’s the good guy.”

“Ah, but mowdiewarp...”

“Voldemort.”

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?”

“No, you said mowdiewarp, an auld Scots term f’ a mole, hen.”

“For a mole hen? Is there such an animal?”

“You know damn well there isn’t, hen.”

“Aye, mebbe.”

Standing up, I declared, “I’m awa’ tae ma pit.”

He looked at me in a degree of astonishment, “Whit?”

“Ye hear me alricht, Jimmy,” I retorted in a very poor Glasgow accent.

“Are ye wantin’ tae mak’ somethin’ o’ it?”

“No,” I said loudly and waved my hand at him, there was a blue flash and he disappeared over the back of the settee landing on a pile of books behind it. After the groans a white hankie was waved over the top.

“Are you all right?” I asked running round to him once I’d got over the shock.

“I dunno, but your copy of John Donne’s greatest hits looks a bit sad.” He held up my copy of the complete works by the poet and mystic, it was looking in need of some tlc. “And you can stand there and deny you’re not Harry Potter’s accomplice?”

“I have no idea what happened, unless the energy thought I was in some sort of danger.” I shrugged because it was the best answer I could think of but I wasn’t very happy with it.

“Danger? From me? I’m your husband in case you’d forgotten.”

“Ah but most domestic violence is caused by husbands to their wives.”

“Just a moment, I was the one knocked over the sofa...”

“Ah but it might have been playing the percentages.”

“What does that mean exactly?”

If I’d known I might have told him instead I told him what I thought. “Your acting was obviously too good and it fooled the goddess who was obviously watching over me.” This was more male cow poo, but it might eventually make him talk about other things.

“I thought you didn’t believe in gods and goddesses?”

“I don’t and it doesn’t make the world any easier to understand.”

“It might if you did.”

“I’m quite happy where I am thank you.”

“Cathy, I know you prefer to look for mundane answers to these questions but if it were that easy we’d all be doing it, not just you and the favoured few.”

“But it was easy, look I’ll show you...”

“NO,” he said very loudly, “John Donne might not be so lucky next time.”

“This is pointless, I’m going to bed.”

“Wait for me,” he said struggling to tidy up the books he’d landed on.

I lay on my back while he gently stroked my breast, “So if it wasn’t the good fairy, then what causes it?” he asked.

“I don’t know, now if we’re going to make love are we going to get on with it or are you going to ask me silly questions all night?”

“Faced with a choice like that...” he said before becoming more physical, but you don’t want to hear the dirty details.

“We have half a mind to make the seed you carry from your mate cause you to carry his child—then you might believe.”

“Milady, it’s not that I don’t believe in you, it’s more a case of trying to integrate it into the modern world without sounding like some cheapjack paperback novel.”

“Catherine, you obstinately refuse to believe in us except when it suits your purpose or you need help for yourself or one of your children.”

“I’m sorry if I give that impression, milady, it isn’t my intention.”

“We wish what you said was the truth, Catherine, but at times we feel you are either lying to us or to yourself. Perhaps we should make you pregnant—it would certainly cause you to think.”

“You can’t...”

“We can’t? Catherine, we are a goddess, can’t is not a word we understand.”

“I mean, you musn’t, I don’t have the equipment to carry a child.”

“Oh dear, it would appear you have a problem.”

“Please, milady, you can’t do that to a baby—it would die.”

“So it would.”

“Please, I beg of you don’t do this to a baby, it will have done nothing to disrespect you. I you must punish me, do it to me not some innocent who has done you no wrong.”

“Why should we worry about that?”

“Because you’re female, you’re the essence of the maternal spirit. How could you harm a baby? Please I beg of you, don’t harm my baby.” I felt the tears rolling down my face.

“Hey, wake up, babes, it’s just a dream.” Simon rubbed my shoulder and I woke up, my face wet with tears and my body wet with sweat.

“She was going to kill my baby just to prove a point.”

“Who was and what baby?”

“I’m pregnant and she was going to kill my baby.”

“Who?”

“The goddess.”

“How could she, you can’t get pregnant you haven’t got the necessary...”

“That was how the baby would die, it would be an ectopic pregnancy. It could kill me too.”

“Where would the egg come from, you don’t have any ovaries?”

“But it was so real.”

“It was just a dream, babes. You keep saying there is no such thing as a goddess and besides being a mother herself, how could she kill a baby?”

“I must be cracking up.”

“It was just a bad dream—that’s all.”

I rose and washed, and after popping on some clean knickers and a nightdress returned to bed. Simon was fast asleep. I was just dropping off when a bright light woke me up again.

“We shall forgive you this once, Catherine, because you were right, we could not harm a child even one conceived by as disrespectful a woman as you. Our essence is strong in you, if only you’d believe it would be even stronger. Goodnight, Catherine, sleep well you might well need your strength on the morrow.”