Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 725.

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Wuthering Dormice
(aka Bike)
Part 725
by Angharad
  
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The meal was excellent and much to my surprise and relief, the three girls behaved – if not impeccably – then well. I wasn’t that hungry – got to keep my weight down if I’m going to be flying soon. What a joke the whole of that stuff is – I mean, I think I am the only sane one. At the same time I can’t quite explain what happens, it must be something to do with electromagnetics. I must act as a conductor of some sort –yeah, that has to be it. Quite how it knows what to do? Okay, so that’s a bit trickier, but then nerve impulses know where to go. I know, it obviously flows along some sort of power gradient, from high to low. That’s it;, people who are very sick are very low powered and I come along like a battery charger and boost them, and it coincidentally makes them better, and death being the ultimate in low charges –providing things aren’t too far gone, with autolysis and so on happening, the energy starts it up again. Problem solved. About as divine as a bar magnet.

“What are you looking so smug about?” asked Stella as we walked back to the suite.

“I’ve figured out how this healing thing works….” I set about explaining it to her.

“So why can’t everyone do it, then?” she asked.

“They probably can, they just don’t know it,” I responded.

“I think the average doctor saying to patients, “You’re okay now, pick up yer bed and walk, is going to go down well. It’ll certainly save the NHS billions on more conventional treatments. You’ll probably get a knighthood.”

“Gee thanks.”

“Yeah Dame Lady Catherine, or would it be Dame Catherine, Lady Cameron?”

“I’m not marrying a bloody dame, with my luck it’d be Widow Twanky.” Simon always managed to add intellectual lift to our discussions.

“Si, Dame is the equivalent of a knighthood for a woman. I mean look at Helen Mirren and Judi Dench, or even Ellen McArthur the yachtswoman,” suggested Stella.

“Or Dame Edna,” Simon beamed back.

“If you want to go out with a drag queen that’s fine,” snapped Stella.

“Can we change the subject?” I felt it was getting too close to something I was happier to forget.

“Hang on, she’s not getting away with that,” argued Simon, “I’m not some sort of poofter, you know, fancying trannies.”

“Erm,” I coughed, “little piggies…” I nodded at the girls. Simon gave me a quizzical look then the penny dropped.

“Oh yeah, sorry about that. I forget, about you, I mean; besides, you’re different.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem.” I took Mima’s hand and we walked on with Trish and Livvie skipping along ahead of us.

“See what you’ve done now?” hissed Stella at her brother.

“Me? You started it,” he snapped back. We left them bickering in the corridor.

As we got through the door of the lift, Mima said, “Mummy, what’s a pooter?”

“A what?”

“Daddy said he’s not a pooter?” she asked innocently.

“Oh it’s a device for catching small insects and spiders,” I answered quickly, “it’s like a tube with a chamber in the middle with a piece of gauze or something across it, and you suck the insect into the tube, the gauze stopping it being sucked into your mouth and probably swallowed.”

“Eeeeewch,” was her reply agreed by the other two if their faces were to be believed.

“That is gross, Mummy, you suck up insects with your mouth–yuck.” Trish made a disgusted face and pretended to be sick.

“Do you mind, Trish, I’ve just eaten,” I chided her and all three of them giggled. It seems girls can be just as disgusting as boys – at times anyway. When we got back to the suite, I switched on my laptop and showed them a pooter on the internet and how it worked.

“I want one of them,” joked Trish, “I can catch fleas with it.”

“Cooties,” laughed Livvie.

“What’s cooties, Mummy?” asked Mima.

“Head lice.” More eeewwwchs accompanied my definition.

“What’s a wice?” asked Mima ignorant of the term.

“A head louse, Pediculus humanus capitis is an insect which infests part of your body and sucks your blood. It lays eggs which are usually attached to hair, and those are called nits. More than one louse are called lice. Head lice obviously live in your head hair.”

Three squealing children ran into Stella’s rooms and when Anna asked them what was the matter, they replied they were running away from cooties.

“What are cooties, Lady Catherine?” she asked as I came in. I sighed and hoped she had a good sense of humour. I left her scratching her head – it tends to have that effect – and called the children back to our rooms. Simon and Stella had finished their argument and were talking about something else.

My mobile rang and I picked it up, expecting it to be Tom or possibly Henry, but it was Sam. I went into the bedroom to escape the noise from the kids and squabbling siblings. “Hello, Sam, I hope this is a social call.”

“Hi, Cathy, yes and no.”

“What d’you mean, yes and no? I’m not saving anyone else, I told you that was the last one, and I’m not doing any tests either.”

“It’s not about that, Cathy, well not directly.”

“So what’s it about?”

“I’ll come straight to the point, it looks like someone has blabbed to a tabloid.”

“What about?” My mind, or what passes for one, had gone completely blank.

“What d’you think, your healing. We think they told them who you were as well.”

“What? Who was it?”

“A porter, we think.”

“Can you discipline him?”

“He’s resigned–walked out, so we think he’s been paid a large sum of money.”

“What do we do now?”

“Stay well away from here,” Sam suggested the obvious.

“I was going to, don’t worry. I’m not staying at home but I’ll call Tom and warn him. Thanks for telling me.”

“Sorry it’s not better news,” apologised Sam.

I called Tom and advised him of the new development. He sighed and simply said, “It’s a sair fecht, aye, a sair fecht.” Simon when I told him said something more rude and I was rather glad the children were talking to Stella at the time.

Tomorrow is going to be an interesting day.

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Comments

Loyalty rewarded

I hope the people running the hotel take better care of their employees than the hospital did. Money can't buy loyalty, but it can sure foster it.

Be funny now if the porter (which I assume is something like what we call an orderly in the U.S.) suddenly had need of Cathy's help. "Sorry, not feeling magnetic right now." ;-)

m

Damaged people are dangerous
They know they can survive

Pooter…

…is the surname given to the principal characters in the humourous Victorian novel Diary of a Nobody by George Grossmith and his brother Weedon Grossmith. It is the fictional diary of one Charles Pooter and was originally published in Punch in the years 1888 and 1889, being published as a comic novel in 1892. Weedon did the illustrations. Here is an example:

Charles_and_Lupin_Pooter.jpg

The book is a delight with characters such as Cummings and Gowing. For a sample entry see:
http://www.diaryofanobody.net/diary.php?date=1888-06-04

Gabi.

“It is hard for a woman to define her feelings in language which is chiefly made by men to express theirs.” Thomas Hardy—Far from the Madding Crowd.

Gabi.


“It is hard for a woman to define her feelings in language which is chiefly made by men to express theirs.” Thomas Hardy—Far from the Madding Crowd.

A pooter

Angharad's picture

Try this for size:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pooter

'Mericans call 'em Aspirators apparently - why can't they speak English, like Bonzi?

Angharad

Angharad

All Day Prairie Dog Sucker

erin's picture

Americans don't call them pooters but we don't call them aspirators, either. I've heard them called bugsuckers. :)

Some guy in Texas, I think, built a giant one of these out of a parking lot vacuum cleaner truck and uses it to suck up prairie dogs, ground squirrels and gophers out of their holes. All the gophers and squirrels become dogfood but some of the prairie dogs are used to do research on why Northern prairie dog colonies (not the ones in Texas and the Southwest) are disappearing.

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Bunny suckers and prairie dog kablooers

I believe Wallace and Grommit used a giant vacuum cleaner to suck the bunnies out of people's gardens. It was no match for the were rabbit, though.

On the other side of the pond, some enterprising individual invented a propane-powered device that blows prairie dogs right out of their holes -- or, rather, blows up their holes.

The exterminator pushes a cannula into the tunnel, fills it with propane, and sparks it. Dirt tends to fly -- sometimes from locations several yards away.

The device has been approved by the Humane Society as a humane way to exterminate rodents.

phooey

... why should we when we've already kicked out those funny accents over 200 years ago ?

;-)

We love you Bonzi !!!! Please come visiting any old time :).

As far as Cathy - Oh Boy - here comes the Sun ! And we are not using it in the Beatle's sense !

Kim

had to happen.

time for a trip to Scotland.

... and VERY disappointed in Simon. He's been so sensitive lately but considering Cathy's constant feelings of inadequacy his comments were very bad. Surprised Cathy seems so calm.

What If?

That ported is infected with cooties and meets Xathy in Scotland? I am sure thay Henry would love to take care of the pooter.

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine
    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

This Is Why...

...superheros wear spandex, masks, capes, and/or interesting headgear. It stops them from being recognized in street clothes.

Ah, but . . .

Cathy in Spandex is probably just as recognizable. ;-) Perhaps if she made herself a dormouse costume? But what kind of name would she use?

I think Cathy needs to go talk to her lady parson, or vicar, or whatever the proper term is. I suspect she's the one to provide the proper framework for Cathy's abilities. Talk about that and the wedding at the same time, get things all settled.

KJT


"Life is not measured by the breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.”
George Carlin

Aint Gonna Happen

... She will not talk to the nice church lady. Aside from that she can just as well talk to her local Druid or Wiccan or Iman or Abbott etc Christians do not have a hammerlock on spiritual awareness.

Thing is, she does realize she is just channels the energy and is not the source but it is clearly still exhausting when she has to do a lot of it. Until she finds a spiritual basis for her healings she will never see the Blue Light herself, I suspect.

Kim

Siblings....

Cathy's trio need to take Simon and Stella as examples... Examples of how to NOT show each other how much they care! Sheesh. The two of them argue enough for a congress. *sighs*

Thanks for more fun. I'll catch back up when I return from Holiday.

Annette

Pooters

My Goodness, Angharad, talk about a Big Pooter! That Industrial Grade one from Wikipedia, WOW!

I could have done with one of those, back when...

The ones we blew from glass tubing ourselves and used back in my day did not even have gauze to stop it going in the mouth - the insect(s) - or woodlice - just fell into the bottle and (you hope) stayed there!

Of course the Americans would have to call them Aspiraters, like they call Lifts, Elevators - everything has to be bigger in America, especially words! Extraordinarilly transrenditionallyfyingly so.

Briar

Briar

MONEY TALKS

We knew this was coming sooner then later.
Oh well, No aura, no story. The 4th estate will soon leave to cover the next auto crash.
Pepper agrees with Whizz
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Cefin