The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2058 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

The Saturday went quietly except I kept falling asleep every time I sat down. Eventually Simon took charge sent me up to bed for an hour and organised the others. Occasionally, I actually think he knows what he’s doing but that might have been the illusion caused by tiredness.

Sunday morning and it’s Father’s Day here in the UK. It’s a totally made up thing imported from the States where I suspect marketing probably means there’s a second cousin twice removed day, or if not will be soon. The aliens, who hadn’t invaded for weeks did so making Simon their major target. He mumbled something about cold hands and feet, but I was pretending to be dead in the hope they didn’t notice me.

I’ve heard the same strategy doesn’t work when in danger of attack by grizzly bears either, and before long a cold hand or foot shoved on the middle of my back meant I squealed and fell out of bed. I didn’t think it was that funny but the aliens did, they just giggled as did Simon, so I reckon they must have taken possession of his body.

Being out of bed, I gathered up my dressing gown–it was quite cold, and went off to the bathroom and had a shower, where Trish came charging in, pulled off her clothes and jumped in with me, followed by Livvie and then Meems. It began to feel quite crowded so I made my escape again, wrapped in towels I returned to the bedroom where Simon was sitting up and chatting on the phone–it was seven in the morning, who was he calling?

Henry of course–his father, who was in Germany on business, some sort of conference. I quickly dried myself, dressed and went to check on the aliens who despite my fears had not dissolved in the warm soap and water but were still squealing like agitated banshees. They got out one at a time and I wrapped them towels I’d got from the airing cupboard, they sighed in pleasure–the towels were still warm.

By this time Simon had finished his call and after expelling us from the bathroom, went in the shower himself. I’m never quite sure about nudity when there’s children around even our own children, but they just hopped in the shower by themselves. Mind you if Danny had joined me in the shower, I think I would have complained. Then again, I think I should if the older girls did it as well.

While I was supervising their dressing and combing out their hair, Trish asked me about a word she’d seen in the girl’s toilet at school. It was the four letter word beginning with the letter C, and rhyming with hunt. I know it’s just a word, like any other but it’s one I can’t abide. I don’t know why, but I dislike it so much and never ever use it.

“What does it mean, Mummy?”

I suspect she already knows what it means and is checking it out. But what do I say? If she finds out it offends me, it almost gives her a weapon to goad me. If I make no big deal, she might then think it’s okay to use–which it obviously is not.

“It’s a word only used by common people for the female genitals.”

“Aren’t those people who aren’t Jews, Mummy?”

Oh boy, just don’t laugh you only encourage her. “No sweetheart, those are gentiles,” as opposed to pan tiles or wall tiles.

“Well, I was close.”

To what? Causing me a nervous breakdown?

“You were indeed, darling, now then let’s go and get breakfast sorted and you can give Daddy and Gramps, father’s day cards and presents. They’d made their own cards and considering their ages, they were pretty good. Trish of course had made hers with the computer while Liv and Meems had drawn theirs by hand.

I’d made Tom’s by computer, inside it read, ‘Happy Faither’s Day. Hae a braw day.’ Of course the spell checker wanted to change things, not having Scots or Lallans as one of its registered languages, but once I’d disabled the spell check, it printed off fine except it didn’t then pick up on the fact I’d spelt happy with one P. Next year, I’ll buy a card from the shop, hopefully that will be technically correct if a bit boring.

The picture on the front had a cartoon character clad in a kilt shovelling oats into a cement mixer with the caption, ‘May ye’r porridge no run oot.’ Thankfully he found it funny and chuckled to himself as he looked at it. I let the girls present him with his new blotter which he said he liked, and I handed him a small package which had his pen in it. It had been pretty well rebuilt and he was extremely pleased to receive it because he thocht he’d lost it. He called me a scunner then hugged me.

Simon was very pleased with his Lion’s rugby jersey, having watched them beat some Aussie side yesterday with Halfpenny the Welsh fullback scoring thirty points. Seems he beat the Aussies on his own. I love to watch him play, he used to be a winger and is very good looking with eyelashes to die for.

I remember seeing him play against England when he bravely tackled someone who was far bigger than he and knocked himself out in the process. Mind you, they all seem to be bigger than he is, but that doesn’t stop him tackling them.

I was day dreaming about Leigh Halfpenny when Simon said something. I wasn’t listening and he got quite cross with me. “Cathy, I was saying about the Aussies only playing second sides against the Lions.”

“As long as they win, does it matter? I answered churlishly.

“Of course it matters. They’re stopping our boys getting properly match fit while giving them a false sense of security.”

I shrugged. I didn’t know much about rugby except how they scored and that Halfpenny has the sexiest eyes in rugby and the French hooker–rugby hooker–duh, has the most wonderful head of blond hair along with an unpronounceable name that sounds more Polish then French–would that make him a French Polish? Aye, there’s the rub–oh forget it.

“Right you lot, I’ve booked the green room,” declared my husband.

“Can we go swimmin’?” asked Livvie.

“But I’ve asked David to do us a nice meal,” I protested.

“He’s not here yet is he?”

“No.”

“So you can tell him not to bother and we’ll go on to Southsea.”

Sometimes I really do wonder why I bother. David took it very calmly and said we’d eat the meat next weekend. “Will it keep that long?” I asked nervously, the last thing I wanted was food poisoning.

“I hope so, or we need a new freezer.”

“Doh,” I said to myself.