The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2705 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 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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We arrived back just in time to hear that our very England International had scored two goals and set up two more in a four two win. Hannah riposted, “Well we all got to handle some wild dormice.”

“Yeah, okay, sorry about that—it went completely out of my head.” Danni blushed and looked very girlish.

“Your loss,” replied Trish, “Where’s this website about quantum biology, Mummy?” I told her to google it and see what she could find.

David had done cottage pie as he wasn’t sure what time anyone would be home, my lot fell upon it as if they hadn’t eaten for days—mind you, it was pretty damn good, as his food usually is and I ate my share as well.

I caught the end of the Ride London Classic where Ben Swift was pipped again at the line. He finished second last year and third this time, but he’s been off the bike a long time having had shoulder surgery, so had no reason to feel anything but pleased with himself.

After dinner I went and did some survey work and added my dormouse sightings to the database we keep at the university. Looks like the others had four positives all new records. I’ll have to do some number crunching one of these days to try and estimate the number of mice we have on all our sites. I have a horrible feeling, it’s going to be down on last year. The mild winter we had may well have done for several of them, they wake up and there isn’t enough food for them, so they hibernate again and die, not having enough fat to keep them going. Fortunately, the captive programme is going quite well and we may well release some more this year as well as hold a decent breeding stock for next.

I’ve managed to increase the funding we have to do this, and we should have a few more cages installed by September. I might ride in tomorrow and check on everything, though our new technician, Angus, is pretty good with them. He’d previously been in charge of rats at a London university, so was good with rodents. He says the dormice are far cuter—compared to rats—duh.

I persuaded Daddy to read a story to the young uns, though at nine and ten, they should be reading them themselves, but I suppose it brings the evening to a nice close and they usually sleep all night with no problems. By this time of course the little ones have been in bed over an hour but they don’t wake up, presumably because they recognise familiar voices or sleep very deeply.

Finishing on the computer, I returned to the other adults just in time to get the last glass of Merlot, Simon, Sammi and Julie had polished off the rest and were engaged in some deep discussion about data bases and the Data Protection Act. It seems, now they’ve got the new shop, Julie and Phoebe want to use a computer system to do all their bookings. They have two new stylists and things are doing very well apparently, hence having the money to buy a computer.

Sammi was obviously being grilled to get the best deal and best software and she was suggesting a desktop not a laptop as Julie wanted. “It’s better value for money and less stealable than a lappy.”

“Yeah, but they take up more room, don’t they?” argued Julie.

“Depends on what you buy, but even a separate unit, screen and keyboard won’t take up a lot of room.”

“What about a tablet with a keypad?”

“Very nickable.”

“Yeah, but I could bring it home at night and do my accounts on it, as well.”

“A desk top is better, you could always download your takings onto a disk or stick and do them at home from that; you’d have a backup system, too.”

“Couldn’t I do that with a laptop or tablet just as easily?”

“You’d have to be careful what tablet you bought.”

“Well that’s where you come in, sister dear, to advise me...”

“I’m off up to bed,” I said to Simon and pecked him on the cheek. I had a new book I wanted to start reading though I suspected I wouldn’t even get as far as the end of the first chapter, all that fresh air and exercise. According to the latest thinking, high intensity interval training is the way to get fit. This means a moderate exercise start for a minute, then a minute of ninety per cent flat out, then a minute of moderate and so on for twenty intervals. I might try it on the turbo next time. It’s supposed to burn more fat as well.

I doubt I’d manage twenty intervals, but I could try some and see how far I got with it. It wouldn’t be all I did, as road riding is necessary to build stamina and strength without going crazy on the turbo—it’s so boring, that paint drying is quite exciting by comparison.

The news came on the radio as I got into bed, if Si isn’t with me, I just listen to the headlines and switch it off. Seems that Cilla Black has died aged seventy two. She was one of the Liverpool set that followed on the coat tails of the Beatles and according to my dad, her accent got more pronounced the more famous she got. I saw her on telly with Blind Date or some other obnoxious show, which my mother used to like. Bit sad, dying at seventy two, rather young these days—still perhaps she’d been ill for sometime or whatever else they say on these occasions.

The radio played a bit of, Anyone who had a heart, which I admit I had heard before but it was a bit before my time, so I really hadn’t listened to Cilla’s music, though I knew lots of Beatles stuff because we had their singles collection and copied those to my MP3 player when I was still at home.

I curled up with my book, a Commissario Brunetti story which apparently Simon had to prise from my sleeping fingers when he came up to bed as I was fast asleep and as predicted, hadn’t finished chapter one. He told me all this the next morning, a Sunday, and I woke ready to ride with the girls or against Danni if she felt up to the challenge—whatever, bring it on.

The ten year olds rarely came into bed with us these days, which I wasn’t complaining about, however, Cate, complete with freezing cold feet—whatever the weather—had begun to do so instead, wriggling and giggling until we woke up or got up. The joys of parenthood. At least Lizzie is just a little too small to manage it yet, but it won’t be long at the rate she’s toddling round the furniture—oh joy.