The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3267 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 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 A.G. who likes to read in bed, Merry Christmas.
The three weeks between my birthday and Christmas seemed to fly, in fact, they may have even gone supersonic because it seemed to happen so quickly. One moment I'm being wined and dined in the green room and the next, I'm helping David make mince pies on Christmas eve. We did have several pairs of hands who wanted to assist, probably more in the eating than the making, but they did help to clear up afterwards and before they got their still-warm mince pie. David claims he is no pastry cook because his hands are too warm, they do tend to be warmer than mine, but I have no interest in messing about with pastry, you could say I don't know my choux from my filo.

I've made plenty of pies in my time and a few puff pastry things as well, but I don't enjoy it because it's so time-consuming, mixing the ingredients and rolling it out and so on. I know lots of people have fun in making all sorts of pastry things, but I am simply not one of them.

My job was increasingly difficult but the university was prospering and getting mentions in the national press from psychology to palaeontology. It's good to have some sort of profile but everything was just so busy despite so many people working from home and thanks to the virus, or a new mutation of, we were back in the equivalent to lockdown or tier 4, which means most things are shut down and everyone is supposed to stay at home except for work or food shopping. There were all sorts of league tables being shown but essentially, once the QA became overwhelmed, it became inevitable that we'd end up in the highest category as the new variant of the virus seemed to be speeding along the south coast from Kent and north into London.

Some places were describing it as originating from the UK, but it didn't, it was that it was discovered here and the genetic code published in the UK first. Apparently, it is something we lead the world in. The variant is more infectious or contagious but less lethal and not to feel left out, South Africa has been found to have yet another mutation. It is what viruses do, mutate that is, even cold and flu viruses do which is one reason why we catch so many, our immune systems can't keep up with them and those viruses that kill their hosts are getting it wrong as they tend to minimise their opportunity to spread. So, anyone who fancies telling Ebola that it's an evolutionary throw-back, feel free to do so, but I don't think it'll be me.

Thankfully, David had done nearly all the food shopping while I had been busy with university business or trying to get presents for the family wondering if Simon and Sammi would be allowed to come home under the restrictions but much of London and South East England were all in the same tier, also lots of Wales and the Midlands were in similar lockdowns. No one is going to forget this Christmas in a hurry - and then we have Brexit, with Bungling Boris just managing to make a deal with the EU a day or so before Christmas. That it will mean we're all worse off than before the referendum, doesn't seem to have entered his mind, or what passes for one - so thanks, Boris, you berk (a Cockney term of endearment, rhyming with Berkshire Hunt).

On Christmas morning, that maniac cat who usually is found in the vicinity of Trish or food ran across my bed at about four o'clock and shot out down the landing after doing the same in the girl's room. Danni's door was shut, so she was the only one not to be woken by our mad moggie, who came back about twenty minutes later for a lap of honour. That it was the wee sma' 'oors when she carried out the attack, seemed unimportant, to said feline as far as I could work out my logic not helped by ailurogenic sleep-deprivation.

My little ones, Cate and Lizzie refused to go back to sleep so I had to get up and pretend how much I liked Christmas, about as much as Ebenezer Scrooge before the Christmas dreams. Actually, thinking about the dream of Christmas Past gave me a sense of being able to partly identify with it as many of my childhood Christmases were not happy ones because I was expected to enjoy them as a boy when I wasn't one and the doll I swapped a football for was confiscated by my Dad, though if you remember he returned it to me after my mother died. It's about the only thing I have that was mine from relatively early childhood which I still have and it's locked away in an old box I had some boots in because it's too precious for me to even give to my own children. I'd give them almost anything else I possess, except that doll and the baby-shoes and christening bracelet my mother bought convinced she was having a little girl. She did but didn't really recognise it until she was dying if she did then.

Rather than dwelling on Christmases past, I got the little ones some breakfast and let them open the things in their stockings, which are little items I have collected through the year for just this. At ten past five on Christmas morning, I finally managed to sit down with a cup of tea and a piece of toast feeling like death warmed up and that bloody cat curled up on my lap.

I had nodded off for an hour and then showered and dressed before starting to prepare vegetables for dinner so I wouldn't have to do them while the others were up and celebrating and it also meant less work for David who could use the time to make two or three different stuffings to eat with the turkey. I'm not that fond of turkey and keep threatening to get one of those multibird crowns for a change, but bearing in mind we have half a dozen adults or more plus myriad offspring, even a ten-kilo fowl lasts only one meal with perhaps sandwiches for another. Then you have the problem of cooking something verging on the size of a blessed ostrich and having an oven big enough to cook such an unfortunate avian. Trish had suggested instead of roasting such a big turkey, we should cassowary it. David nearly choked on his coffee that day.

By eight o'clock, David was in my kitchen preparing the turkey and a joint of silverside of beef plus a large boiling ham. Trish, who was now both awake and finishing her breakfast asked if all ecologists ate so much meat? I began to understand how Pinocchio felt like with Jiminy Cricket. Though in truth, I didn't eat that much meat preferring to be responsible for the extinction of tuna. Seriously, I would probably have two slices of each over Christmas and about the same number of mince pies if the others didn't get them first.

The girls got Simon up, once they'd lain in bed cuddling him for an hour or so and by the time he was downstairs Sammi and Stella were also down and pretty well everyone was there so we allowed the opening of presents. I don't think anything will ever compare to the year I had my op and Simon gave me the bike workshop set, which I still have, all clean and greased and in my bike shed. Sadly, I just don't have the time to play with it much these days. life is so fraught and busy.

Then a little after Julie and Phoebe arrived I got a text from Diane to tell me that one of my readers in Biology had succumbed to the virus and the reality of it came home with a crash. His son had called Diane because he knew her socially and she passed it on to me. I felt awful, here we all were gathered to stuff ourselves silly and a family just a mile or two away were in mourning.

Called Diane from my study and got the son's phone number and called him to express my condolences but there was nothing else I could do. When Simon found me I was in tears for my lost colleague and he mentioned, he was dreading hearing from Monica to say that Henry had died. "You will try and stop that happening, won't you?"

I nodded and felt more tears, Henry had been his own worst enemy throughout this illness and his refusal to make some changes to his lifestyle, which he agreed when he was very ill, had been ignored. I wasn't sure if I actually could help unless he helped himself first and time was running out. it looked as if we would never forget this Christmas.