The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2294 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Dochter, thae day ye mak’ sense tae me, I’ll ken I’m dreamin’.”

“Gee thanks, Daddy.”

“I didn’t understand what you said, Mummy.” Danny said and the blank looks tended to confirm the same with the others.

“You said, ‘A whit, what’s a whit? To which I retorted that I was told so at school.”

“It doesn’t make sense, Mummy.”

“Remember my maiden name?”

“Um—Cathy Watts?”

“Well done, so Watt’s a wit.” I spelled the words out for her.

“I still don’t get it.”

“I used to make smart statements in school, smart arsed remarks which were often considered witticisms.”

“What like jokes?”

“Puns or word plays, when you can’t physically fight the opposition you find ways to fight back using different weapons. I often made quite acerbic comments about the boys who used to beat me up. By those who didn’t think I was gay or didn’t care, I was regarded as a bit of a wit.”

“Hey, that rhymes, Mummy.”

“So does nit wit.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Anyway, I was sometimes seen as Watts the wit, when I made a good remark or one that got loads of laughs. Usually, those who enjoyed hitting me, were the target of my remarks.”

“Did it get ye anywhere?” asked Tom.

“Satisfaction some times, occasionally hit harder the next time. On reflection, it was futile but it’s an adolescent thing.”

“Aye, an’ some ne’er grow oot o’ it.”

I blushed and considered myself told off.

“Do we know what time Simon and Sammi will be home?” David interrupted the proceedings.

“I have no idea, shall I try and find out?”

“Please.”

I sent Si a text asking if he and Sammi would be home for dinner. His response took half an hour. ‘Doubt it, will go to the flat if it runs late. Sx’ I was tempted to ask about Sammi needing a change of clothing but he can buy her a new outfit if necessary as she’s saving his bank.

The sunshine made me want to be out in it and I went up and changed into my cycling kit and after telling Jacquie I’d be unavailable for an hour, I snuck off and did a quick bike ride.

If it hadn’t reminded me just how unfit I was, I’d have enjoyed having my bum on a bike saddle again. I did a quick ten miler and was sweating and puffing as I turned for home when some kids in a tatty Volkwagen Polo pulled alongside me and the passenger leant out and smacked me on the behind. While I was still shocked, he yelled something and the car shot off like a bat out of hell. I’d been happy slapped, a practice I’d thought was long since out of fashion—I suppose it is Portsmouth, they can be a bit slow to catch up.

I saw the car slow down and upped my pace. At the first set of lights, I nearly caught up with them until the driver saw me, the passenger again leant out of the window and yelled something at me. It was lost to the wind, so I didn’t hear what he said, nor cared.

At the next set of lights I caught them and as they hadn’t left much room down the side of the road I had to ride rather close to the car which then received a row of circular scratches from the edge of my cleat/pedal. He shot off from the lights cutting across in front of me, but I stopped and he clipped the kerb instead and I suspect damaged his alloy wheel rim. I really didn’t care as I considered we were now quits.

A short while later, they were stopped at the side of the road with a flat tyre. I sped past them before they could do anything and waved as I went. One of them chased after me and flung his bottle of beer at me which hit a passing car. Last I saw was the driver of that car having a go at one of the kids from the broken down car. Poetic justice I guess, I sniggered to myself and rode home.

“Where have you been?” demanded Trish.

“As I’m wearing cycle shorts, I’d have thought your big brain could have worked that out without any further clues.”

“What?”she gasped as I pushed past her to go up for a shower.

“I see what you mean,” observed Danni.

“See what?”

“Watts the wit.”

“Eh?”

“You walked all over Trish rather well.”

“She started it. I’m the mummy not her. She’s answerable to me not the other way round.” I was still a bit cross about it.

“Pardon me for speaking.”

“I need a shower.” I pushed past again and locked the bedroom door. The last thing I needed was Trish trying to get her own back. I was a black-belt in put downs, I really didn’t need to practice on my children, but no pip squeak talks to me like she did.

In the shower and calming down in the warm water I was struck by the irony that I’d gone for a ride to enjoy the sunshine and to relax and instead I’d become angry and aggressive, doubtless set off by the two punks in the car. They’d got their comeuppance which was so richly deserved but I’d been unable to shift the irritation I’d felt at their arrogance and effrontery.

Happy slapping is an act of assault and anyone who finds it funny is both a moron and a criminal. Had I fallen off my bike, which could have happened, I could have been badly hurt. I’d heard stories of planks of wood being used, which is serious assault, except the kids are rarely caught, and while the victims are manifold, they’re often cyclists because cyclists are vulnerable through being unprotected by some sort of vehicle body.

The more I thought about things, I’d wished I’d got the number of the car. I reported the incident to the police who seemed to take a dog’s age to record it due to some new computer program they had to use. Why they needed my occupation as well as other unnecessary data, seemed intrusive. I was the victim after all.

Finally, I finished doing my hair and wearing casual clothing went downstairs. Trish snubbed me making sure it was seen by Livvie and Jacquie. I wasn’t sure whether to speak to her about it or not. None of them knew why I was tetchy other than Trish’s impudence as I returned from my ride. I let her most recent behaviour go. If it was repeated, I’d take action and confiscate something precious to her like her iPad.

David called us to dinner and I went and sat down at the kitchen table. “Where’d you go?”asked Julie.

“I did a quick bike ride.”

“Lovely weather for it?”

“Yes, it was.”

“Good ride then?”

“It would have been if I hadn’t been happy slapped.”

They all sniggered.

I felt furious but kept my temper. “I don’t actually consider an assault to be a matter for laughing.”

“It was hardly that, was it?”

“I could consider it a sexual assault, having someone slap me on the backside.”

“What?” she gasped.

“If you were walking down the street and some bloke slapped you across the arse how would you feel?”

“Cross I suppose.”

“If you were on a bike, how would you feel?”

“Okay point taken.”

Trish sat there open mouthed. “The man hit you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s bad, Mummy.”

“Yes it was.”

“I didn’t know.”

“No, you didn’t, did you?”

“I’m sorry, Mummy. I was cheeky, but only because I’d have liked to ride with you.”

“Next time, perhaps.”

“Thank you, Mummy.” She ran round to me and hugged me. “I’m sorry, Mummy.”

“So am I for being so crabby.”

“I love you, Mummy.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”