The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3428 by Angharad Copyright© 2024 Angharad

---

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.
~~~~~~~~~`
"Have ye decided?" Tom enquired.

"She hasn't; I've been at her all morning to write her biography, she has seen such change in her lifetime," said Diane.

"Yes, I have most of the reduction in biodiversity in this country, almost by the day and I suspect it's probably true in all industrialised countries where people see money as more important than survival."

"Surely we have the technology to put it right?"

"I think we passed the tipping point a few years ago, when various governments put being fabulously wealthy ahead of having helpful insects."

"Helpful insects, like what?" asked Diane.

"Like honey do you?"

"Of course but the toast has to be just right."

"Where does the honey come from?" I asked her.

"From bee hives, silly. Some biologist you are."

"More of one than you are, bees are insects."

"Oops, you got me there."

"I wasn't intending to trap you, but pollination is one of many services provided to us by insects, flies pollinate more plants than bees, and bumble bees work a lot harder than hive bees, not forgetting solitary bees which lay their eggs without ever seeing their offspring, but that might not be a bad thing because there is enormous parasitism of their little nests, some by other bees."

"Aye that mebbe true," our crusty host decided to enter the discussion, "I've nivver studied insects, Cathy has, written some papers twa."

"I'm afraid that insects are creatures I admire and respect greatly because how sophisticated they are and how complex their biology is. Most aren't very bright but those who have studied various bees in any depth realise how clever they are. This in animals which only live for six weeks."

"Wow, is that all, what a waste." Diane stated looking rather depressed.

"They are exploited by man, like most everything else, who do so mainly to make money and the welfare of bees only crops up when they see the money reducing. I'm not talking about hobbyist bee-keepers, because they really do enjoy their hives but the businessman type who only cares for the dosh he can make by exploiting these little animals. Incidentally, bees are possibly as clever as many breeds of dogs and bumble bees have been noticed playing, the act in itself being the only reward they receive."

"Gosh, there is a lot about bees I don't know," admitted Diane. "Why don't you write a book about it?"

"Why do you want me to write books? It's true isn't it Daddy, that those who can teach, those who can't write books about it."

"Aye, sae they say," he nodded as if emphasising the point."

"These days they make films about it too." Mocking myself made my two companions laugh at my statement. "I believe they have one or two in the history department who can't teach for toffee, but they have written some popular books."

"Aye, they're awfy good, " said the poor man's answer to Oor Wullie.

"Surely, they must know their subject well enough to write a book on it?" Diane seemed to be defending the authors. "I know someone who wrote a book on dormice as well as a film, both of which were acclaimed."

"Perhaps I should meet them," I said before quickly adding, "acclaimed by who? If it's a professor of mammal ecology, fine, if it's the television critic in the Guardian, he was more interested in my shorts than the dormice."

"They weren't wearing any shorts, might explain it," Diane quipped.

"Yes, but they do have very interesting feet and legs and are one of the few species of British mammals that can run both up and down a tree."

"Not at the same time," she quipped again.

"If they do I haven't seen it, but things like bank voles and wood mice just climb and then jump off, relying on their lightness and the bushes below to break their falls. It's quicker than climbing down but uncontrolled and who's to say, that there isn't a fox or weasel waiting under the bushes. It's one of the reasons we have to move experiments with mammals after a short time, because of habituation by predators or parasites. It also happens with experiments with any animal in a wild setting, even our campus."

"Cor," said Diane, "It's almost like you two actually know what you're doing."

"I wouldn't go that far, old girl." I said to get some more laughs.

"I was reading something about parasites and parasitoids, in some notes you asked me to type." I nodded, remembering that particular document. "So, what's the difference?"

"Um, two letters?"

"What?" she said loudly.

"Okay, both are types of parasite, meaning that they live with you without contributing to your life, in fact they usually exploit that life."

"So there's no difference."

"Ah yes, one big difference - you can survive a parasite, parasitoids usually kill their host at the end of their occupation. It's a whole field on its own, and of course some are intermediary hosts for things like malaria or sleeping sickness."

"Which most teenagers have," she suggested, laughing.

"I always thought it was because of human metamorphosis, adolescents' brains turn to soup when they finish puberty."

"That wid explain some o' thae exam papers I've tried to mark," Tom decided to show us he was listening, although the fact he had drunk his glass of Guiness demonstrated that clearly to me.

"So, which book are you going to write?" Diane addressed this question to me.

"Transsexualism in Muscardinus avellanarius."

"What's that when it's home?" she asked and Tom choked for a moment.

"Is that an insect?" she asked when Tom had stopped coughing.

"Dormoose," he got out before coughing again.

"Oh shit, perhaps I should go and write books about things."

"Sounds like you may need a good researcher," I remarked in answer to her self deprecation.

Lunch over we returned to the grindstone. Most of out students had been absent for several days as the Easter holidays loomed, but the staff only had a week or so to try and regain their sanity. Mine had been lost a long time ago so even with a hypersonic missile I wouldn't be able to catch it.

I was thinking about sabbaticals or retirement when the phone rang. It was mid-afternoon on the Thursday before Easter, it was Good Friday tomorrow, so who was ringing me? If it had been family they'd have used my mobile number, because I usually carried it with me. I answered it tentatively, "Who's calling the bat phone?" I announced down the receiver. I don't know why I did it, as it always goes wrong and embarrasses me.

"Hello, professor, please bear with me."

The voice sounded vaguely familiar, "Who is me?" I asked firmly but gently.

"It's John Jackson, I used to write for the Portsmouth Echo. Please don't hang up I need your help."

"Why should I help you? You did your best to make my life and that of my children unbearable?"

"I know and I'm sorry, I'm writing for the Edinburgh News and I'm trying to write something on this trans thing in the Scottish courts."

"So why phone me, I live in England."

"I've tried to get to speak to both sides, but that woman judge who is trans, is so busy she can't see me, I've tried JK Rowling, but she won't talk to me."

"Ah, the billionaire bigot, " I said feeling that the wealthy author, whose books my kids loved, but I held in the same poor level of fiction as Fifty Shades, so refused to waste my time reading them except to the kids when they were younger. Hannah, who was doing English A-level, said her teacher used them both to show how literature shouldn't be written, and when asked why both were so successful, said one word, 'Marketing.'

"You sound as if you don't like her?"

"I've never met the woman, at least I assume she's one, these days you never can tell and I just detest the way she is interfering in an argument that doesn't involve her. She may be Scots, but so am I and I'm not involving myself, it's for the Scottish courts to decide on."

"I know your daughter, the footballer one, is transgender, albeit a very beautiful one and I wondered if you knew anyone I can talk to that isn't ranting, either for or against this case?"

"I don't, and my daughter is legally female so don't try to suggest anything other."

"Look I know she is, otherwise she couldn't have played for England. I just wondered if I can talk to someone to try and get to the real issues on both sides."

"Are you recording this?"

"No, should I?"

"Not sure I believe you based on past experience."

"No I'm not."

"Okay, the reality, and I'm speaking as a non interested person, is that various right-wing factions in America and Britain have stirred up an anti trans atmosphere, usually based on lies and fear but promulgating the safety of women and children, although a lie, as their concern.

"This has caused one or two women with the same political philosophy to denounce transwomen as men, which they clearly aren't, suggesting that they feel unsafe in women's spaces because transwomen, who are really still men, might attack them. The facts suggest any such attacks are rarer than hens teeth, and if anything women have assaulted other women in public loos, claiming they were men.

"Those are the facts, the Tories and Republicans are picking on a tiny minority because it offends their views backed by right wing Christian groups, quite why I don't understand, because no one chooses to be transgender, they are born that way, but being a tiny minority group, sometimes easily identifiable, they can't retaliate, so are an easy target. In the American case it seems evangelical Christians, preach hate of anyone different, which I think suggests, if Jesus were about today, they'd probably hate him too.

"That's the basis, write what you want, but basically, it's about everyone being unkind to each other, if your article promotes just a little kindness in this world, I wish you luck." I rang off thinking I'd probably just blown my cover but what the hell, people in Britain and America were suffering dreadfully at the hands of bigots and liars like Trump and his obsequious and noxious supporters. Feeling suddenly exhausted because I keep this sort of stuff deep inside me, I picked up my bag and locked my office telling Diane to go home, to have a nice Christmas and I left. I think I was rapt in my thoughts as I left and stayed that way until I got home to the chaos and anarchy of a large family. Long may it continue.