But Dave doesn’t like gambling

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.

Nell: Probably.

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.

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