The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1674 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I lay in bed thinking about that slimy solicitor who’d called and the two louts he was representing, Nathan Cock and Luther Lavelle, I ask you–names like that are so bad they have to be real. And Mr Kite? Wasn’t there a Beatles track which started off, ‘For the benefit of Mr Kite there will be a show tonight on trampoline,’ or something similar. Sergeant Peppers or Abbey Road, must check on the internet, though we’ve probably got a copy here somewhere.

The snoring alongside me meant that Simon was also consumed with irritation by the solicitor’s visit. He hardly worries about anything, except that little business of half a billion pounds and the bank in Kansas. To give him credit, he’s also worried once or twice about the kids, but compared to me, he’s relatively secure from worry, whereas I’m totally neurotic. Okay, I’m preaching to the converted, already.

If I’d spoken like that perhaps Mr Kite would have settled for a bounce on the trampoline–I would suspect his appearance and name suggest he was working on his Sabbath. Not that I hold it against him, either his working on the Sabbath or him being very likely Jewish. I do hold it against him that he’s a slime ball of the first order, irrespective of his beliefs or ethnic origins.

I must have got to sleep because I woke up needing a wee. It was half past six and quite light, although in the distance it looked a bit misty and murky. I elected to get up and do some work on my survey. I slipped downstairs and after a cuppa and a slice of toast, I padded into the study and switched on the computer while I sipped at my second cuppa–absolute bliss.

I got a good hour’s work done, clearing the backlog of emails, though with the universities on holidays and then gearing up for exams, it would be quieter for a couple of months.

I always hated exams, even though I was quite good at them. I used to get myself very anxious and suspect I did them on an adrenalin rush. I rarely took the whole time, and once was the first to complete a paper and walked out knowing I’d passed much to the astonishment of my fellow candidates.

Sussex beckoned after that and the rest you know. Here I am in a backwater running the largest survey since Captain Cook charted Australia–suits me fine, although I nearly came to a similar end to Cook, who was killed by natives–think Cock and Lavelle–on second thoughts...

Something which puzzled me, I was being cited for an assault, but apart from kicking one of the louts twice, the only other blow I offered was hitting the girl who tried to stab Simon, and as yet, she hasn’t got in on the act–I hope I didn’t hurt her that badly–surely not? That began to worry me a little. If she was a friend of the other two, wouldn’t he have jumped on the bandwagon? They usually do. I might get James to make some discreet enquiries, especially if they have her name on the police notes of the incident.

I heard the patter of medium sized feet and then my door opened and a voice said, “Oh there you are, Mummy, what are you doing?”

“Trish, I have been working on my survey, if that’s alright with you?”

“Yeah, ’course–we having any breakfast?”

There are times when I love my children very much, sadly this was not one of them, however, children means being in debt forever. Oh well, “C’mon,” I said leading her off to the kitchen where Livvie was already making her breakfast and also one for Meems. Why Trish couldn’t have done the same, I hate to think.

“We wondered if you’d gone out on your bike,” suggested Livvie when I sat down and poured myself some cereal.

“She was working on her survey,” offered Trish.

“Who is she?” I asked seeing myself as my mother for an instant.

“The cat’s mother,” they chorused, again a revisit to my childhood.

“Sorry, Mummy. Mummy was doing her survey–is that okay?” Trish looked sufficiently contrite. I nodded, having a mouthful of cereal and as I try in vain to get them not to speak with a mouthful of food, I thought I’d better do as I preach.

“Haven’t you wecorded evewythink?” asked Mima displaying her favourite cereal for all to see in her impression of a cement mixer.

“Meems, please, don’t speak with your mouth full, it’s rather unedifying in a young lady.”

She snorted by response and I’d now have half masticated malted oats to clear off the table. Some days...

“Can we go out on the bikes, Mummy?”

“I’ll see, I have a leg of lamb to cook for lunch, so we might have to go out after lunch.”

“It’s gonna rain later.” Trish had obviously been on the internet and checked on the weather forecast, not that it’s often correct. We seem to be in between everywhere else and our own microclimate which does its own thing.

“I suppose if we went very soon, I could just about do the dinner as well.”

“Yay,” shouted Trish and Livvie and they then both rushed off to tell Danny.

“Are you coming as well, Meems?”

“Not today, I have to wash my dowwies cwothes.”

“Well you get one of the adults to help you, or wait until we get back.”

“I can do it,” she said indignantly.

“Not with hot water, you don’t. The water in the hot tap is very hot and I don’t want you scalding yourself.”

“I know how to mix the hot and cowd water.”

“You wait, missy, or I shall be very cross when I get home.” She went off in huff and I ran upstairs just in time to literally run smack into Simon as he came out of the en suite. Thankfully, he caught me so an actual collision didn’t quite occur.

“Where’s the fire?”

“Sorry, darling, I have to get dressed, the girls want me to go cycling with them.”

“Oh, that all?”

“I have a leg of lamb to cook as well.”

“So, couldn’t you put that in the slow oven?”

“No that would be too slow–I suppose I could stick it the gas oven on low and turn it up when we got back?”

“Well then, do that.”

I kissed him.

“What’s that for?”

“In lieu of your consultant’s fee.”

“Oh right,” he shook his head.

“Darling, could you supervise Meems?”

“Why?”

“She wants to wash her dolly’s clothes and I’m worried she’ll have the water too hot.”

“Okay,” he pottered about with his tallboy.

“Now, please, darling.”

“You slave driver,” he joked as he went downstairs–at least I hope he was joking.

I quickly washed and dressed and rushed down to prepare the joint. Some twenty minutes later we were getting the bikes out. “What were you doing with the blender, Mummy, it smelt nice?”

“I thought I’d try making some pureed rosemary and mix it with mint and paint it on the lamb, with some mustard and olive oil.”

Livvie looked at me and the expression of too much detail passed across her face. We did our ride, about an hour or so. Danny did come with us and borrowed Stella’s bike again. He also gave me someone to ride against, although even that was no real contest. I stayed in the smallest chain ring, so I couldn’t go that fast, whereas he could use any gear. I suppose I’m still too strong for him, but he’ll get there and having male hormones racing round his system producing strength and aggression, he’ll beat me one day.

When we returned, Simon was hanging dolly clothes on the line–Meems can’t reach it. The girls laughed and he scowled at them. Meems was supervising and she nagged him when he stopped. I had to hide in the bike shed, I was laughing so much, seeing this big man being bossed about by a small girl, while he hung doll’s clothes on the line.