The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3135 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.

I slept better than I expected and woke up, if not quite raring to go, at least I woke up before the radio came on to the religious programme that follows the news headlines at seven. Simon was still asleep as I crept out of bed and into the bathroom. I showered quickly and combed my hair—I examined the brush and considered that if I lost that many hairs every day, I was surprised I wasn’t as bald as a billiard ball—I’d dress first and put what was left of my hair into a ponytail once I’d dried it.

Simon stirred as I pulled on some jeans—almost my uniform at weekends or evenings—“What ya doing?” he asked sleepily.

“Getting dressed, why?”

“It’s Sunday for god’s sake, why so early?”

“I have lots to do before we take Danielle to the football ground if you recall.”

“I hadn’t forgotten, but that’s hours away yet.”

“Who’s going to feed the little ones?”

“Get Julie or Phoebe to do it, make ’em earn their mortgage.”

“You got them one then?”

“I’m the chief executive of the retail division, was it ever in doubt?”

“I don’t know do I? I don’t think in a bankerly way.”

“You practise economic measures at home and at the university, controlling expenditure, making sure you stay in the black, don’t you?”

“Yes, but that’s housekeeping not high flying finance.”

“What sort of budget d’you hold?”

“Altogether?”

He nodded.

“About ten million.”

“Just housekeeping, eh?”

“Yes, the same principles apply, as Micawber demonstrated when expenditure exceeds income you’re in trouble.”

“That’s all the basics of banking is, plus how to screw blood out of stones or babies or old people.”

“So I’d heard.”

“You work for a bank too, remember.”

“I work in the environmental element, that just involves screwing money out of the bank.”

“True,” he sighed.

“Come back to bed, let’s sh—um, make love,” he changed his tune at my expression of disdainfulness.

“Nope, got some work to do for the university and also two littlies to feed and some not so little anymore, as well.”

“Come and feed my littlie,” he said smirking.

“Feed it?”

“Yeah it’s designed to absorb nourishment from females, from their honeypots.” It was certainly a better chat up line than he’d used for some little while.

“Too late, I’m up and dressed...”

“Both of those could be easily reversed.”

“I’ve just showered, I don’t want your body fluids dripping out of me.”

“Doesn’t usually worry you?”

“I’m going to feed Lizzie.”

“See, you don’t always win an argument.”

“What argument?”

That gave him the opportunity to break into the argument sketch, which he started from the beginning.

“I don’t suppose Monty Python ever did a come and feed the children breakfast sketch, did they?”

“No they didn’t.”

“Yes they did.”

“They didn’t.”

“Did.” Two can play at this game.

“Did not.”

“Oh well too bad,” I said and went towards the door.

“You’re a funny woman,” he said.

“You knew that before we were married so it’s too late to get a divorce.”

“What?” he gasped.

I smiled sweetly and went downstairs where either Kiki had switched the coffee machine on or Tom was about somewhere. He was, damn, just as thought I had a winning combination to submit to youtube, a spaniel making coffee.

I switched on the kettle and made myself some tea. I was about to drink it when Simon came downstairs. “What was all that about upstairs?”

“Tea or coffee?” I asked.

“Coffee please.” I poured him a coffee from Tom’s freshly distilled brew. “Thanks. Now what was that about upstairs?”

“What was what about?”

“The funny business stuff.”

“What funny business, all you did was recite Monty Python sketches so I decided to come down.”

“After indulging me by participating.”

I shrugged, “So?”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were on.”

“Not going to happen.”

“So where are all these children you were going to feed?”

“After a cup of tea, anything can happen and I’ll cope.”

“That makes about as much sense as a Monty Python sketch.”

“Is that a compliment?” I beamed back at him. He simply glowered in response. Tom returned and he spoke to Simon about something in the garden he needed his help to do. I quickly finished my tea and went to rouse the little ones. I came down expecting to point to Simon and then explain to them who he was, except he wasn’t there. Typical bloody man.

I made them breakfast—not quite a full English—more a partial Scots—they had porridge while I made myself some toast. Amazing what you can do in a microwave these days, even porridge. I chopped up a banana and shared it between them in their cereal and mashed up another on my toast and sat and ate while they played with their breakfasts.

Trish came down followed by Hannah, “Woss Daddy doing up the garden?”

“I have no idea, he was talking to Gramps a minute ago about the garden, didn’t realise he was out there,” but it did explain his current absence.

“You taking Danni to see that weasel, Jackson, today?” asked Trish.

“Yes but don’t say that, it maligns a perfectly innocent mustelid.”

Hannah looked at me in astonishment. Trish however fired back, “All the villains in Wind in the Willows were mustelids except Badger.”

“Quite right, have you read it again recently?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “Can I read your book about Darwin?”

“Which one, I have several?”

“The big one—you know with his piccie on the back.”

“The biography?”

“Yeah whatever.”

“If you want to, I suppose so.”

“Thanks.”

“She only wants to borrow it to have it on her desk in RI., she’s hoping it’ll give Sister Virginia palpitations,” was Hannah’s take on it.

“Is this true Tricia Cameron?” I asked.

“No, course not, I just wanna read it.”

“So if I say it’s not to leave the house, you’ll abide by that, will you?”

“Er um, what if I wanna read in my lunch break?”

“It’s bigger than her Bible,” offered Hannah.

“What is?”

“Your Darwin book, it’s thicker than Sister Vagina’s Bible.”

“Yeah but not as thick as her—nothing is.”

“Trish if you were planning to take my book just to upset your teacher in religious studies, I don’t think that’s very clever, do you?”

“I thought it was brilliant,” smirked Trish. I did sometimes wonder if she was slightly deranged, in which case she did take after me.

“In which case, you can’t borrow it until you’re old enough to realise how unpleasant some the things you say and do can be.”

“Spoilsport,” she said poking Hannah.

“You’da got into big trouble.”

“Nah, I’d have talked my way out of it, I’m cleverer than all those old bags.”

“I don’t like the way this conversation is going, young lady.”

“Well it’s true, I am cleverer than them.”

“You may well be but you’re far less aware of other people’s feelings than they are.”

“Ha,” she almost spat, “they don’t care how we feel when they’re prattling about telling their fairy tales.”

“If that’s how you feel, I’ll withdraw you from religious studies.”

“Who’s going to challenge them then?”

“That isn’t my problem and shouldn’t be your mission.”

“Yeah, I’m a missionary,” she said and swaggered off through the door. I looked at the other girls sitting there and wondered if I’d fallen through some portal into a parallel universe where everything was like a very bad version of ‘Friends’.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kQFKtI6gn9Y (Argument Sketch).