Easy As Finding More Work.
by Angharad
part 390.

As I rode home the rain started–some summer this was proving to be. I was quite wet before I got back to the house and by the time I’d wiped the bike down, was feeling cold. I know the bikes are carbon framed, but they still have metal components that can rust.

I went in and after switching the kettle on, ran up for a leisurely shower. I was nice and warm again when I changed into the velour sweat suit–they call it a lounge or leisure suit, but essentially it’s the same as a jogging suit. I made some tea, checked Houdini was still in her cage and set up the laptop.

Using dial up was slow but enabled me to check my emails. There were several from Tom, including the contact at Bristol University and another at the West of England University. They both ran biological sciences, although the WEU, ran an ecology course, which might have possibilities for me as a teacher.

I sent them both an email asking for an appointment. I also sent an apology to Tom, although I would buy him a nice bottle of Scotch when I next went down there–if he’d ever let me in the house again.

Stella said she wanted to visit, so I sent her a reply inviting her as long as she didn’t upset my dormouse. While I was replying to one or two others, she told me she’d bring some hazel nuts and would be up the next day. I sent her another email, advising her to bring her bike with her.

It was soon lunch and I made some soup–actually I cheated, I made a packet soup and added vegetables and some bits of chicken to it. I was going to make a chicken salad, but this was nicer on such a lousy day. It was summer, but I only knew it because the rain was warmer–no wonder people went abroad. I day-dreamed about missing the TdF and felt very sad about it, especially with Cavendish winning four sprint stages. I felt even sadder a moment later, the soup boiled over and I’d now have to clean the cooker.

I ate first, it gave the hotplate a chance to cool so there was less possibility of burning my fingers. The soup and bread filled a hole which was completed with a cuppa. As I drank my tea, working up the enthusiasm to clean up the mess on the cooker, the phone rang.

I answered it a little apprehensively, not many knew I was here. “Hello?”

“Hello, can I speak to Cathy Watts?”

“Who’s calling?”

“Dr French from the West of England University.”

“Hello, this is Cathy Watts.”

“Oh, I’m glad I caught you, we’re running a summer school course next week on field biology skills and our main teacher has called in sick, could you help us?”

“Probably–next week, crikey, that wouldn’t give me much time to prepare.”

“Some of it has been done already and the field trips arranged, can we get together asap?”

“Yes, when?”

“Any chance you’re free this afternoon, because I’m away for a couple of days after that?”

“I could be there in an hour, I suppose.” Dr French gave me directions and I went up and changed into something more appropriate, no not a camouflage safari suit, but my jeans and a comfy top–my Tour of Britain tee shirt. I also chucked on a bit of makeup and a squirt of smellies, then a little later I was heading for the WEU which is near the motorway at Frenchay.

I followed the campus signs for the School of Biological Sciences, and entered the modern looking building. After signing in, I was led to Dr French’s office, a small book-lined room. He introduced himself and we shook hands.

We talked about his summer school, which posed no problems to me, as my bachelor’s degree involved some fieldwork and which my work since with Portsmouth had consolidated. He had checked for my publications and the three papers I’d published, were all about population studies and ecology.

“These papers were published by Charles Watts.”

“Erm,” I blushed, “my previous incarnation.”

“It’s interesting because the Mammal Society charges for copies of their papers, and I checked our library. The more recent versions, the electronic ones are attributed to Catherine Watts, whilst the paper copies in the library are Charles Watts. I’ll get them altered by next week.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem, if you can run our summer school, that would be wonderful. I saw you on the telly, didn’t I? Weren’t you engaged to some banker?”

“Yes, I still am.”

“Wasn’t he a lord or something?”

“Yes he is, his father is a viscount.”

“I always thought that was a type of aeroplane.”

“Before my time, I’m afraid.”

“So what happened at Portsmouth?”

I gave him the edited highlights, leaving out the accusations of mass murder and mayhem which circulated after my leaving. He was horrified at the attack on me and asked if I was well enough to do the teaching–he obviously didn’t want a second lame duck.

When I asked what had happened to my predecessor, he explained that they had gone sick with prostate problems. I deduced they were probably a bit older than I was, and although I still had a prostate gland, the hormones should have stopped it hypertrophying.

He handed me the summer school programme, which I scanned quickly. “The whole thing lasts five days, three on theory and the last two on field studies?”

“It does.”

“I want to do an hour’s practical in the morning and afternoon.”

“What? I don’t know if we can. The two field outings are up to Hartpury House, where we have an agriculture school and equine department, as well as a large wooded area.”

“This stuff is good,” I said, referring to the programme, “except, they’ll all be asleep by the afternoon. If we start with an hour in the lecture room then an hour outdoors, weather permitting and do the same in the afternoon, they’ll stay awake and learn more.”

“What do you propose to do with them in an hour?”

“Get them awake and thinking. This is a disturbed site.”

“Yes some building is always going on here.”

“We’ll look at recolonisation of the disturbed ground and habitat destruction and restoration.”

“Good lord, I’d never thought about that?”

“It’s all ecology? Then the next day we’ll look at the motorway.”

“You can’t, access is prohibited.”

“I said we’ll look at it. All we need is a bridge or footbridge over it, we can see all we need to. People often think, ecology is about saving rainforests or our temperate woodlands. While it is that, it’s also about understanding that each time you dig your garden you’re changing things. Ecology is about how the natural world adapts or doesn’t to change.”

“Yes, I know, but…”

“But nothing, we are all responsible or affected by it. Usually we adapt, sometimes we don’t. It isn’t just about global warming, it’s also about the weeds in your garden, or those that spring up when you rip a hedge out or pave the front garden–what happens to the water run off when it rains?”

“I see, you’re planning to teach that as well as the items we have here?”

“If they can go back to their homes and see changes there, they’ll appreciate how those contribute to greater change. It’s all very well to produce bio-fuels and claim they are carbon neutral, what about the water used to grow them? That is often forgotten about.”

“What about your dormice? Are you planning on doing anything on them?”

“I have loads of data on them, which I could use. I take it we’ll be using Powerpoint?”

“Yes.”

“I have plenty on disc and my laptop to keep them amused for weeks.”

“Maybe a second summer school or even autumn school?”

“I don’t know. Anyway, I shall be here next Monday with my bits and raring to go.”

“Thank you, I’ll look forward to introducing you to your students.”

We shook hands and I left placing the file of paper on the back seat of my car. I would teach the principles they wanted covered, but we’d do it my way and have some fun doing it. I was also going to give a prize for the person who notices the most number of species during the course field outings.

I drove home feeling quite pleased with myself, we agreed a fee of a thousand pounds for the week, which I would certainly earn, but it was still good money.