The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3120 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

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.
*****
As I drove through the road works, which seem to be a feature of British roads these days, I glanced at my hands. My nails were short but neat, that is clean and nicely shaped, compared to how they’d been when I’d done the Scottish play, then they were acrylic, rather long and bright pink. Thankfully, no one spotted the anachronism, and I enjoyed them because they were so girly and drove my father up the wall, but in reality they were a total nuisance making everyday things like writing or typing difficult. I also used to get them tangled up in clothing or trying to pick up coins from a shop counter was a fiddle, so when it came time to get rid of them, I wasn’t too upset, although I was beginning to get used to them, plus no one told me that they mess up your own nails for months afterwards. I decided I wouldn’t bother doing it again. Besides, scientists tend to have short nails and so do women with young children.

After parking at the university, I tried to tie up any loose ends that needed resolution before Thursday because I wouldn’t be in tomorrow, we were off to Wembley to watch my daughter play soccer for England. I felt quite excited.

The whole afternoon went by in a blur it was such a rush and it felt as if a whole month’s work had arrived in the morning’s mailbag. Diane and I slogged until we finished the urgent things and I left absolutely shattered at five o’clock. Once at home I had to face a pack of whingers which are like hyenas only less friendly. Where had I been, they were looking forward to doing this or that—it rained anyway but I half expected them to blame that on me too.

I called for quiet. “Danni is playing for England tomorrow, who would like to come with me to watch?”

An air of disbelief arose then they processed what I’d said, “What we can go to see her?”

“That’s what I said, but I’m not taking anyone who acts like a spoilt brat. I have just done two day’s work this afternoon so I can have tomorrow off, so I only want good girls for company tonight and tomorrow.”

It worked. Bless them, they tiptoed about as if walking on eggshells and were so helpful, which was just as well, as I was exhausted and my patience not at its best. Of course, they were like bottles of pop at bedtime and I had to get cross with them before they settled down, but they did when I left them listening to a CD of a Just William story read by Martin Jarvis. They’d heard it before but that doesn’t seem to worry them.

I was in bed early and slept fitfully because I knew it would be all systems go tomorrow morning. David had agreed to come over after breakfast and do us a packed lunch to take with us—he makes my efforts look so boring—so after showering myself and rousing the girls—I unlocked the back door for him to get in. He has a key anyway but can never find it and I often leave the key in the lock most nights, I know I shouldn’t in case emergency access is required but I always forget.

Breakfast was bedlam. I had a baby sitter in for the little ones as Stella was working, and that cost me a fortune, Jacquie was also busy revising for exams coming in the next two or three months, then she passes or fails. The amount of work she appears to do, she should walk it, but then I’ve thought that about other things and been wrong.

We finally set off about ten o’clock with a minibus taxi to the station. The girls don’t go on trains very often so this was a real adventure, an expensive variety as train fares in the UK are over charged through outright profiteering by the train companies and a complicit government, mind you this government only seem interested in withdrawing from the EU so everything else is going to pot. No wonder UKIP still won’t die off, despite there being no reason for them to exist anymore, they continue to threaten mainly Labour seats as most of their voters are what were previously Labour supporters. But as Labour only seems interested in internecine feuds, they are losing support and credibility.

It’s just that most of the candidates for UKIP are like Trump, total fantasists who can’t distinguish between reality and their dystopian day dreams, or between fact and fiction. They also tend to rubbish scientific fact, like climate change, and should thus be receiving psychotherapy not votes. Sadly, many if their voters are the same, in denial except to their own prejudicial view of the world—presumably a flat one that the sun orbits.

The train was busy and the four girls sat around a table while I sat behind them in a two chair arrangement. I’d taken a book as well as all the food and drink, which were now deposited on the overhead rack, though I didn’t get to read it because they were either poking their heads over the seat or coming around to me and tapping me on the arm. I didn’t even get to finish the Guardian, such were the interruptions so I felt quite stressed by the time we got to Waterloo.

When Hannah disappeared as we got off the train, I nearly went frantic, but Livvie found her in the loo. We finally managed to emerge from the station and thankfully, Henry’s limo was waiting for us and we took a slow but safe ride to Wembley.

It was outside the famous stadium we met up with Simon and Henry and the girls flung themselves at the two men nearly knocking them over—they forget they’re getting bigger and heavier and are no longer little girls. Henry showed some sort of pass and suddenly we were whisked off to a private box, which left me astonished.

“Goodness, Henry, what do these cost?” I gasped as we were shown into our room for the afternoon.

“About thirty seven K per annum, but it’s not mine, a good friend has done me the honour of a loan for the day.” I put down the food I’d been lugging about and the girls, each had a bag of it as well. The staff there didn’t seem at all fazed by us bringing our own food and they did supply crocks and cutlery as well as drinks.

How the other half live, we had our own bathroom, dining area all indoors then out through the glass doors and onto our own balcony. When Henry had arranged for Danielle to be met at the station, he’d told her he and her dad would be in one of the boxes so she’d know where to look for us.

We ate our lunch and at three o’clock we tripped out to the balcony just in time to see the teams emerging. My heart was in my mouth.