The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2217 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Dinner was a subdued affair the table being divided between those of us who thought Danni had made a boob having her hair dyed platinum and them who liked it.

Nobody had to say anything to work out who was on which side, it seemed to happen by osmosis. The evening was less tense or for me it was. I went into my study and did some work on the survey. I’m still being paid for it, so have to earn it. Having finished that, I drafted a paper for the bank based upon the preliminary survey results for the reserve they’d funded in my name. The footings for the study centre were in place and work would start on the construction as soon as things got a little warmer.

One of my students had run the survey for me and had included some photos of the site. Part of me missed being in the thick of things, bossing people about to do what I wanted. Instead I now have to delegate, I’m just too busy to do it myself. Thankfully, Tony Collier is reliable and his report is probably as good as mine would have been. As it’s being submitted by the university through me to the bank, I shall revamp it to meet their purposes but I will give credit to Collier for the bulk of the survey work. Credit from a bank–see I’m even thinking like Simon–God forbid.

Simon herded the kids up to bed when he saw I was working and I thanked him and winked at him; which should keep him happy for an hour or two. I hadn’t forgotten I’d almost promised him some nookie that night though I wasn’t really in the mood for it. Sometimes I wonder if my libi-do had libi-done! Oh and according to one study I read transsexuals are supposed to be left handed–yeah, right.

At ten, I finished and making a cup of tea told Si I was going to bed as soon as I drunk it. I was good to my word and went up ten minutes later. I’d changed and was cleaning my teeth when Casanova arrived.

To cut a long story short, he had his wicked way and I ended up having to have a little wash before I could follow his lead and zonk. I’d just got into bed when Lizzie started crying. Simon didn’t hear her, neither did anyone else so it was yours truly who had to deal with her. She was snuffly like she had a cold and had snot all up her face and in her hair. I cleaned her up and gave her her soother or dummy. The way she chewed on it tended to indicate she had a teething cold. Just what I needed, so I gave her a small dose of Calpol, which I hoped would help her sleep. It didn’t, and I ended up walking round the bedroom with her draped over my shoulder, probably with snail trails all down my back–don’t you just love babies?

She went back to sleep about the time I suggested if she didn’t I might have to terminate her. I was so tired I could have slept standing up. It was two o’clock and I had yet to close my eyes, which felt like burning embers. No sooner had I got back into bed and about to warm my cold feet on Simon’s leg when she started crying again. I was going to leave it and hope exhaustion would enable one of us to sleep but thought better of it and when I went to sort her, she’d dropped her dummy and on my repositioning it, she went off almost instantly. Tomorrow, she can sleep in the garage, or maybe I will.

Monday was a blur seen through eyes which had no desire to open except to blink and close again. I dragged myself out of bed, asked Jacquie to sort Lizzie and just managed to get the girls to school on time. Then I came home had a shower and felt a little better. Jacquie said she’d take her in with her that night and I thanked her, I might now get a sleep.

I fell asleep at my desk and woke with a crease down the side of my face where I’d leant against my sleeve. Fortunately, I was working from home and my snooze did enable me to wake up enough to collect the girls from school. After dinner, I went to bed, I was shattered.

Tuesday, I was woken by the aliens getting into bed and giggling. Then they started singing Happy Birthday. I felt like getting out of bed and running as far away as I could, then realised they’d have followed me–it was my birthday they were singing about.

I burst into tears and they wondered if they’d done anything wrong. I told them they hadn’t and that I was just so moved by their performance it made me cry. A total porkie, I’d just that moment remembered I was now thirty. Life was over and I had to prepare for my dotage and eventually to die.

As the day wore on and I opened cards and presents, I sort of warmed up a little. I took the girls to school and decided when I got back to make some cakes only we had the engineer trying to repair the cooker I’d have been using. In the end I made one using the bread maker and a recipe that came with the instruction book. It looked okay though taste is as important. If it’s awful, the bird table might be getting a rather large slice of it.

David was quite amused by my adventure with the bread maker but was reasonably impressed with the small piece I gave him to try. “It’s okay, stick a candle on the top and we’ll call it your birthday cake.”

It was the only one I had as far as I knew, then I thought, I could have used the Aga but when I mentioned it to him, David shook his head adding, “Besides, I might need it for dinner–I’m going to do a casserole.” I shrugged and left my effort to cool under a cloth on the cooling rack.
So far the day wasn’t going as I expected. Simon had left me a card and although we agreed we wouldn’t buy each other presents for Christmas, I felt disappointed if that was also the case for birthdays–not that I actually needed anything. I suppose that if I had, I probably had enough money to buy it myself.

For lunch we had boiled eggs. It’s one of my favourite meals and David did them to perfection while I helped making a pile of toast. Stella grumbled a little about the plebeian food but it didn’t stop her eating it all and saying she enjoyed it afterwards. I asked David about the cooker engineer and he told me the man had gone to get a part and would be back later to finish it. Seems like my birthday cake would be the one I made in the bread machine. I shouldn’t complain, there are millions starving to death every day. Instead I should count my blessings, but all of them were out at that moment.

I collected the girls from school and when we got home I let them have a biscuit and drink before they went up and changed. The kitchen was wreathed in the most amazing aromas and David threw me out–yeah, of my own kitchen.

“What about the oven, has he fixed it yet?”

“I’m going to try it later–now bugger off.”

Honestly, you just can’t get the staff.

I had a sniff of the wonderful smells emitting from the kitchen and I had to admit none of it smelt like a casserole. Was there something he wasn’t telling me?