The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2347 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“When will your new dormouse surveyors be in action?” asked Simon as we dressed.

“I’ll get them out in a couple of weeks and see if they remembered anything we did today.”

“You sound as if they’re all Alzheimer patients.”

“Worse, they’re students. A couple of years ago I had a group who wanted to handle dormice. They were all girls and first years, I gave them a time, a date and a grid ref and never saw them again.”

“I presume you were at the grid reference at the appointed date and time?”

“Of course.”

“So they’re not still wandering round the woods?”

“Woods? They’d never heard of a grid reference let alone the Ordnance Survey. We have the best maps in the world, how come our youth have never heard of them?”

“Same reason they don’t know about Shakespeare or Mozart. We’ve let them down, Cathy, they have such a poor level of general knowledge because that seems to become diluted by every generation. They know how to put things on facebook but how to bake a cake or grow some spuds—they haven’t a clue.”

“This like three generations of the same family who’ve never worked only claimed benefits, so they don’t understand the concept of working for a living. The downside of the welfare state.”

“Weren’t Sammi’s original family a bit like that?”

“Crikey, she said something about them many moons ago—didn’t think it was very complimentary.” I had a vague recollection about it and how they’d abandoned her. “Where is she today?”

“Staying at my flat.”

“Has she found a new playmate?”

“How would I know?” he said trying to avoid the question.

“Because she confides in you.”

“Does she?”

“Si, she tells you everything.”

“Not everything.”

“But most things, especially the important things, like she’s found a new love in her life.”

“How d’you always know these things?”

“I’m a woman, Si, we know these things,” or notice might be a truer statement.

“Okay, some guy from the auditors is taking her out—satisfied?”

“No, what’s his name, how old is he, how senior is he, what are his prospects and does he know who she is—I mean, being a member of the family.”

“You make it sound like the Mafia.”

“We’re worse than them, Si, they stop when weapons are fired or they run out of money—we don’t and we won’t run out of money.”

“I hope not, Babes, or I’ll really be up shit creek without the proverbial.”

“What toilet paper?” I pretended not to understand his aphorism.

“That as well, but I was thinking paddle.”

“You can’t wipe your bum on a paddle, can you? Or is a canoe some sort of euphemism for your bum?”

“What are you on about?”

“The saying, paddle your own canoe.”

“Yeah, what’s that got to do with toilet paper?”

“That’s what I wanted to know.”

“You’ve lost me, babes.”

“You were on about shit creek.”

“Yeah, up shit creek without a paddle, that’s the saying.”

“I know, but never really understood it.”

“If you have no paddle how would you steer your boat?”

“With my ha... um, why is it called sh—you know?”

“You get my drift?” he smiled at my uncomfortable expression.

“Yeah, drifting would be an alternative to paddling with no paddle.” I put my hands in the pockets of my jeans, just talking about getting them all dirty made me want to shower again. The pig noticed and laughed at me.

“So Sammi has a new boyfriend?”

“Yeah, Frank Liscombe.”

“Have you done a search on him?”

“No, what for?”

“After what happened with Stella, don’t you think you should?”

“No. Look, he’s worked for us for about four or five years.”

“He could be a sleeper.”

“Only insofar as he’s probably sleeping there tonight.”

“What? You’re letting them sleep together?”

“Cathy, they’re both over twenty one.”

“But he might have some awful social disease.”

“Like what?”

“Um—distemper?”

“Isn’t that what dogs get?”

“Um—I meant venereal disease.”

“Not venerable disease—wasn’t that what Trish called it?”

“Yeah, only caught by archdeacons.”

“Is that a protestant joke?”

“Dunno, don’t they have archdeacons in the Catholic church?” I honestly didn’t know. Not many dormice appear to be catholic.

“Ask Sister Maria.”

“Will she know, I mean she’s a teacher not a priest.”

“She’s a nun as well, isn’t she?”

“I suppose so, never asked her—I suppose she’s in a teaching order not a preaching one.” How was I to know, I’m not even a practicing Christian let alone a Roman Catholic.

“I thought she was a friend of yours.”

Is she? She’s the headmistress of the school that four of my girls go to. We’ve done a few things together—mostly her exploiting me for the school—but she has looked after my girls, so maybe she is as much of a friend as a nun can be. “Yeah, but we don’t talk about such things.”

“I suppose you’re afraid it could be habit forming.”

“Ha bloody ha,” one of these days I shall murder him citing his puns as provocation. They might just give me probation, unless Stella gets him first. Poor old Stella, she really surprised me over that business with Mitchell. I mean how could she keep a secret that long, especially from Henry? She obviously has hidden depths.

Simon paused as he did up his shirt buttons, “I can’t get over Stella not telling anyone about that business with Mitchell.”

“I was just thinking about that.”

“Well that just proves how like minded we are.”

“I wonder what David’s done for dinner?” I said changing the subject.

“I don’t remember seeing him today.”

“God, it’s not his day off, is it?”

“Dunno, babes, I leave all that to my harem of women.”

He’s more harum-scarum than seraglio but I don’t remind him unless he really upsets me. “I’d better go and see what’s in the cupboard then.”

“We could always order in a pizza,” he offered.

“If we do that the kids will think we like them.”

“Oh, shouldn’t we?”

“Shouldn’t we what?”

“Like them?”

“No, I can’t stand them.”

“Shouldn’t you have said that before we adopted them?”

“Why?”

“Well, you just should have.”

“What, that I don’t like pizza?”

“Pizza? I thought you meant the children.”

“What? Are you stark staring bonkers?”

He looked shocked.