The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3092 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 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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I asked Danielle if she wanted to invite Cindy and her mum over for Christmas dinner and she came back smirking. “What’s so funny, young lady?” I asked her.

“Cindy’s mum.” The smirk became a snigger.

“C’mon, out with it. Did you invite them?”

“Didn’t get a chance.”

“Why, what happened?”

“Apparently Cindy isn’t allowed to mix with that family.”

“What? She said that about us?”

Danielle nodded adding, “She thinks we’re dangerous.”

“Dangerous? That’s ridiculous.”

“She has a point, Mummy. Since I’ve been here I’ve been abducted two or three times, had people try to kill me a couple or more times and tipped a bowl of food over your old headmaster.”

“And?”

“I loved every minute of it. Almost as much fun as playing for England.”

“You, young lady, are becoming an adrenaline junky.”

“Yeah, well it’s better than being boring.”

“Adrenaline junkies tend to die younger as they get the thrill wrong just once.”

“Like what?”

“Like jumping off cliffs in those ridiculous flying suit things with wings.”

“Yeah that’d be great fun.”

“It’s usually a boy thing, Danielle.”

She blushed, “So, can’t help me chromosomes can I? Anyway, you can talk, you get into more scrapes than an old razor blade.”

“How would you know that?”

“Dad’s got one, I done my legs with it, once—prefer waxing, less blood.”

“That was his grandfather’s don’t let him catch you playing with it.”

“So? How d’you know—about the razor thing?”

“He caught me doing my armpits with it—um is it hot in here or just me...” I remembered it well. It was an army issue safety razor, so Simon told me and difficult to get blades for—no it wasn’t and to prove my point I got him a packet of ten in the supermarket. But I could understand it was a keepsake and promised not to use it, not that he does much anyway, he tends to use an electric shaver thing, one of those you can use in the shower and wash it clean as well, without electrocuting yourself. However, like my daughter, I prefer to get my bits waxed, not that my legs are very hairy nor my armpits. I read an article a while back about shaving your crutch can be unwise because it can lead to infections. Not something I fancy doing, nor having it waxed—that would probably have me stuck to the ceiling of Julie’s salon. I tried one of those do it yourself kits for doing my legs but it was a waste of time.

Christmas came and went. We celebrated it in a less ostentatious way this year, being aware that although we’re a relatively wealthy family, we don’t like to waste money or make too big a show of it—it tends to put people off. Some are resentful that others have more than them and seem to think that we don’t have to work for it. I know I work pretty hard for my salary from the university, if not so for the money the bank pays me. That reminded me I had a report to do for Henry, quite when I’d find time, I had no idea. I’ve tried to resign twice but he won’t hear of it, the sexist old rake says that I brighten up the board meetings. He has dozens of more beautiful and younger women working at the bank’s headquarters, including my lovely daughter Sammi, of whom he’s justifiably proud—like Trish and Livvie, she’s very, very clever, though I suspect that means it frightens off most men because she hasn’t had a relationship for a while. Simon said something about MI5 being interested in recruiting her but she’s not interested apparently. She hasn’t said anything about it and they wouldn’t pay as well as the bank.

I was still finding bits of Christmas wrapping paper about the place. The dustbins were due to be collected in the morning for the first time since Christmas. We had two because of the size of the house and the family, though I’d had lots of grief from the council about it. They insisted it was one bin per household, I threatened to withhold my rates and they then in return threatened court action. A phone call to Jason sorted the problem. I’m not quite sure what he said to them but a second bin arrived the next day. Perhaps the guy he spoke to had a mortgage with the bank.

Outside, the sun was shining and my washing was drying beautifully. The girls had helped me around the house first thing—once I’d managed to get them up—then they went out to play in the garden. Trish came in an then rushed out again ignoring me telling her off for not wiping her feet. Minutes later she returned with her tablet bearing a photo of a red admiral butterfly which had apparently been flying about in the orchard. It didn’t surprise me, though they’re not supposed to hibernate here, I’m pretty sure some do and I’ve found little corpses in the garden shed where a spider presumably found them. Sadly, they have to eat as well.

I was toying with putting together a book on woodland ecology, calling it something like, ‘Woodland Food Webs’, the title I give to my lectures on the subject which is about how everything eats everything else and how the various species interact and mesh to maintain the overall system. It includes as much as my first year students can understand with some plant and animal reciprocations such as pollination. Some species of plant only open their flowers at night because they’re pollinated by moths, which is why such things as night scented stocks we plant in gardens produce their scent in the evening—to attract night flying insects, not just to please humans who appeared on the scene many millennia after the partnership had flourished for aeons.

It strikes me as strange that the same species which can appreciate the beauty of natural scenery can also spoil it by fly tipping rubbish. As far as I know we’re the only species who can appreciate such aesthetics and also despoil them. Strange creatures, humans.

A while ago I was chatting with an ex-soldier who’d seen action in lots of places and I was sure had killed in his time in uniform yet he wasn’t just a robot. We were talking about his experience of scuba diving and being just a few feet away from a whale-shark as it swam past above him, he reckoned it was over thirty five feet long and it was just feeding quietly on plankton until another boat arrived full of Russian tourists who just jumped into the water and frightened everything away with their carelessness, including the gentle giant who was gone in two waves of his tail, down into the depths.

It grieves me that so many humans have no idea of being part of the ecosystems which govern life on this planet and some of which are so fragile they are easily disrupted or broken by the rampaging two legged locusts who consume all before them—or some of them do.

Still a new year looms quite soon, I wonder what it will bring us all, I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.