The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1571 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Boxing Day, traditionally the day when the servants were given their Christmas boxes, is the day following Christmas in the Anglo Saxon tradition ie the twenty sixth of December.

Christmas Day had petered out with everyone being rather full of food and chocolate in the case of the children, though in what ratios I wouldn’t like to say. The adult’s ratios would have been between food and alcohol. I had a glass of wine, but that was all, Simon and Tom made up for the rest of us and Tash seemed able to drink her share, too. Julie stayed pretty sober because I suspect she was waiting for me to instigate another go at healing Jenny.

Jenny, because of her medications didn’t drink, and I think that Caroline had very little as well. They spent much of the evening talking together and I doubt they were swapping recipes. Simon, Tom and Danny were talking sports, which much to Julie’s disgust, Tash quite enjoyed. She’d certainly heard of Mark Cavendish and considered him worthy of the BBC Sports Personality of the Year, so she can’t be all bad. Makes a change from golfers and footballers, neither of whom have much in the way of the dedication required to ride the TdF. Most footballers seem to need a week between matches, so how would they cope with riding two hundred kilometres every day for a week, some of which would be up and down mountains? Not terribly well, I should think.

A full eighteen holes of golf is about five miles–wow, some sport, I know an old man who regularly walks that far with a dog and doesn’t stop every two minutes to ask the advice of a caddy–no he only stops if the dog considers the odd tree or lamp post needs sniffing or watering. I reckon I get more exercise running up and down stairs doing housework–and a top golfer can earn up to five hundred million pounds if he can stay there for four or five years. I think there is something very wrong with the state of this world, when some over rated tosser can earn that sort of money for playing games which spoil a good walk and there are people, especially children, scratching a living in less developed countries, by sorting through rubbish tips and removing anything remotely recyclable–during which time they must expose themselves to all sorts of infection risks and hazardous substances. Something is very wrong.

I made a mental note to up my regular donations to Save the Children.

Back to Christmas Night: after Dr Who, which I saw most of, we played a couple of board games with the girls–that is, Stella and I did. Then I sent them to bed and read them some of a modernised version of A Christmas Carol. Reassured that Tiny Tim wouldn’t die before the next excerpt thy eventually went to sleep.

Catherine and Stella’s little ones had already been put to bed and thankfully stayed there, asleep. At ten Stella and asked Jenny if we could get her to bed on the assurance that Caroline could come and chat with her afterwards. She eventually agreed and queried why Caroline couldn’t also help put her to bed or wash or change her.

I’d thought I’d been fairly sensitive in having Caroline help with the less than intimate bits, which Stella and I had dealt with–now Jenny was changing things. If that’s what she wanted, be it on her own head. Stella witnessed the query, so there could be no doubt that it was Jenny’s own idea. If they had been a couple already, I could understand it but they didn’t really know each other that well. That’s people for you.

Boxing Day: When I came down to check on Jenny, she was washed and dressed and Caroline had her sitting in her wheelchair at the kitchen table eating her breakfast. Now, either a miracle must have happened, in which case why is she still in the wheelchair, or she let Caroline do it all for her, or at least assist her including toileting and putting her in the special panties she wears to keep her clothing clean. I decided not to say anything beyond a morning greeting.

Soon after I didn’t have much chance anyway as the rest of the mob turned up with very healthy appetites, so I had to pour some swill in the troughs for them–much of which seems manufactured by a well know US cereal company.

Twice I had to ask Caroline to do something for me, because she seemed to be turning into Jenny’s personal maid, which would have been fine if I didn’t need her to help me as well. I made one or two sharp comments and she seemed to appreciate the situation a little better.

Julie and Tash were the last two down–there’s a surprise–and I told Julie I wanted to have another go at Jenny’s back once she’d had breakfast. Half an hour later we had a good go, mobilising Trish to the cause as well. I don’t know if she helped, but Jenny was certainly able to feel her feet more than she had the day before. We all agreed it was positive, given the damage to her spine from impacting from thirty feet onto concrete and tarmac.

Si and Tom were amusing the children–I did say amusing, listen more carefully; I was stripping little bits from the turkey to make a stock for some homemade soup, chopping vegetables and trying to listen to the radio as well. Caroline came in to speak with me.

“Could I speak with you, Cathy?”

“Sure, if you can do while I make the soup.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Carry on–oh, d’you want to close the door?” I indicated the kitchen door, which once closed tended to mean not to disturb me except for emergencies.

The smell of the stock cooking and the bread machine doing its stuff made me feel quite hungry but I resisted the urge to snaffle one of my Lotus biscuits and let my tummy rumble, unrequited.

“You’ve probably noticed I’ve spent a lot of time with Jenny.”

“I assumed she was giving you advice about helping me run this place.” I said disingenuously.

“Yeah, some of the time we talked about the house and so on.”

“Oh good, she was very organised.”

“Yeah–um, we also talked about–um...”

I stopped dicing carrots and swede and looked at her very intently. “Yes?”

“Um–lots of things–um?”

“I can’t believe you’ve come to ask my advice on small talk, have you?”

“Yes–um–I mean, no. Oh this is so difficult.”

I turned the gas down under the soup, I had a fair idea of what was coming so the meal would have to wait.

“Okay, Caroline, sit down and just say it.”

“Say–um–what?” she mumbled having seated herself at the table.

“What’s on your mind about Jenny.”

“Oh that, yes–um.” She paused and I looked at the clock, if she doesn’t get started on the tale in the next few minutes, lunch is going to be very late and I would have to prompt her. “I–um–think–um...”

“We’ve done that bit, now what were you thinking about?”

“I really like Jenny.”

“Yes, I had noticed.”

“Oh–that obvious?”

I nodded and smiled, I hoped with encouragement rather than mockery.

“I think she likes me, too.”

“So, why do you need to tell me this?”

“I’d rather like to take the afternoon off and take her out in her chair for a walk.”

I edited the sentence so it made sense and nodded, “Okay, I can give you two hours after lunch, but I’ll need you back for four o’clock.”

“Great–yeah, that’s great, thanks, Cathy.”

“Of course if you finish lunch before two, you can have a bit longer, but I need to get back to the soup or we won’t be having it at all.”

“Yes, boss.” She scampered out of the kitchen and I went back to chopping veg trying to concentrate on not putting in too many fingers or slices of, into the soup.