The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3023 by Angharad Copyright© 2016 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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As we burst through the French window and out onto the patio, we were just in time to see Danielle and Trish dive into the pool. As they were both wearing clothing rather than swim suits, it was obvious that something had happened.

“What’s going on?” I asked Cate who was shaking and crying.

“Emily falled in the pool,” she said crying, “I told her not to go so close,” she sobbed.

I saw Danielle towing the younger child to the pool side and Stephanie had already stepped into the shallow end and was taking her daughter into a massive hug. They were both crying and I hugged Cate while Lizzie grabbed round my legs like a clamp.

It took an hour for everyone to calm down, dry themselves and change. I rinsed out the clothes and pegged them on the line, the way the sun was shining they’d be dry in an hour.

Stephanie blamed herself for taking her eye off Emily but in truth it was no one’s fault and everyone’s. I commended Danielle and Trish for their rescue and Stephanie was grateful to them as well. To my mind, it was nice for them to do something for her as usually the traffic seems to be rather one way and comes from her. I think they were pleased to help her too.

It’s funny, at times they act just like children taking everything they can with no reciprocation and then suddenly when your heart sinks because all the effort you’ve put in seems to go unheeded, they surprise you and you feel so proud of them. It never lasts long and the next minute you’re ready to murder them again. As they say families are a constantly changing dynamic.

I had suggested we go up to Fornells but the girls wanted to go ‘up the mountain’ which meant Monte Toro where the church and the military radar station are, plus the cafe and shop, or to hilltop which used to be a farm and a fortress which they call Santa Agueda castle on Google maps where you have to park and walk. I thought it was a bit too hot for that.

Stephanie was rather shaken by the morning’s experience and she decided she wanted to just stay home and cuddle with Emily, which was completely understandable given what could have happened. Emily seemed none the worse for the experience but Stephanie certainly was.

I offered to make lunch but she told us to go and spend a few euros and boost the local economy. When I asked if they wanted to have lunch on top of the hill, they all declared they did. Stupid question really. I told Stephanie that there was plenty in the fridge if she wanted a sandwich but I think all she wanted was some peace and quiet to deal with her recent trauma. The ironic thing was that when Emily saw us getting ready to go out, she wanted to come as well.

Monte Toro is pretty well in the centre of the island and we could either get back to one of the main roads and head north and then down to it via Es Mercadel or head south west and turn up through Alaior, which was what I decided to do. I didn’t need Danielle to navigate as we’ve been there before and I know the way but she still did all the same.

Once we’re on the road up to the top of the hill the winding progress seems to take forever and I have to consciously remember to drive on the wrong side of the road, we followed a couple of cars so it was easier to copy them than to think for myself. There’s a big car park up the top and once parked we had a quick walk around to look at the views, Livvie with her camera and Trish and I with our binoculars.

“Blue rock thrush,” I said opening the ante.

“Black redstart,” she retorted.

“I’ll up you an Egyptian vulture.”

“What are two eagles worth?”

“Not as much as that black stork.” What the hell was that doing flying past? Unfortunately I didn’t have a chance to ask it.

I take them out to lunch and what do they ask for? Bloody chips. We could have stayed at home and had infinitely superior ones to whatever they offer here. But sausage and chips was what they settled for while I managed to go really exotic and have a jacket spud with tuna in mayonnaise. Well the salad had peppers and rocket so that has to count for something. The tea was wishy washy and I don’t like mine strong; Simon sometimes comments mine’s too weak to climb out of the pot—so, I’m not asking him to drink it.

The girls all had fizzy drinks and we sat out on the veranda admiring the view and being visited by swallow tailed butterflies. I saw Livvie trying to photograph one of them and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she got one, the Lumix camera she has does all sorts of wonderful things.

I’d put the telescope, the new one, in the boot of the car and we set it up looking for eagles and other birds of prey. The eagles declined to play but we did see a red kite soaring on their long thin wings and the forked tail was much in evidence. These days if you want to see one, just pop up towards Oxford, it’s almost guaranteed.

The food was okay but expensive seeing as even at local supermarket prices I could have made us all a similar meal for half the price. The chips, they call French fries because they’re skinny things like they have in the States which absorb twice as much fat as the thicker variety and nowadays, people seem to have to have novelty flavours like southern fried chicken taste or barbecue flavour. I don’t need all this crap, as most of it is chemicals and colouring agents with paprika or other pepper. Fish and chips as we have in Britain should only vary in taste by virtue of the fish you have. In Scotland it would be haddock, in England and Wales mainly cod though local specialties exist. One place I remember offering skate wings and chips.

They should only be eaten with a sprinkling of salt and vinegar not knee deep in curry sauce that looks like it’s accessed from a elephant with a diverticular problem. Talking of effelumps, I saw a news article which shows that in Thailand they’ve been using beehives to protect their fields against marauding elephants. It only works on a small scale but apparently the elephants are scared of bees, especially when they swarm, so the Siamese people join several beehives together with ropes and if the elephants walk through the ropes and upset the hives the bees chase them off double quick. It’s much safer than trying to chase off a few tons of delinquent jumbo yourself and getting trampled in the process, you let the bees tell them to buzz off.