Nell: This is all too much.
Me: What’s happened?
Nell: David is flying to Monte Carlo.
Me: Excuse me?
Nell: He doesn’t even like helicopters and Gladys is terrified so she is going to stay in my handbag.
Me: Very wise.
Nell: Fortunately The Cat has a pilot’s licence.
Me: Why are they going there?
Nell: To the casino, of course. I’m not even sure if they allow berets.
Me: The last I knew they were performing at dinner and David was having his beret wired.
Nell: Yes. David returned to find Gladys swinging from the chandelier surrounded by a group of admiring rooks.
Me: Not completely surprising.
Nell: When he helped her down, her high heels got caught in his beret and it landed on The Cat’s head.
Me: Oh no!
Nell: It was furious.
Me: Yes. It always says it wouldn’t be seen dead in a beret. They are so gauche.
Nell: That’s not the point. Anyway, during the kerfuffle the NOIR bosses left for the meeting without them.
Me: Oh no.
Nell: Fortunately they are all staying at the same hotel.
Me: How is Dave affording that?
Nell: Sally organised it. She has a room there too.
Me: Say no more.
Nell: I thought you wanted to know what happened.
Me: Never mind. Do continue.
Nell: This morning he was enjoying a delicious croissant and had just ordered another cafe au lait when Sponge Finger came over and suggested he joined them in Monte Carlo.
Me: But Dave doesn’t like gambling.
Nell: That’s the least of our worries.
Me: He is going to have to play blackjack and roulette.
Me: And drink dry martinis, shaken but not stirred.
Nell: I certainly hope not.
Me: And a beautiful silky haired French dog is going to try and steal him from Sally.
Nell: Enough. You are letting your imagination run away with you.
Me: Yes. Sorry.