Me: Is Harriet feeling a little worse for wear this morning?
Nell: She and Jim went on a double date with Sally and David. They came home very giggly.
Me: Bless them.
Nell: Poppy is cooking a large Sunday fry up. Sausages, bacon, tomatoes and mushrooms. Malcolm is in charge of eggs. He does an excellent poached egg.
Me: Yes, it must be a bird thing.
Nell: I have never heard such nonsense in my life. Malcolm has great dedication and a skilled beak. It is not a bird thing at all. Can you imagine Count Bingo Flamingo cooking eggs? Or a Beefy?
Me: I would rather not.
Nell: Exactly.
Me: Where did they all go last night?
Nell: There’s a new jazz club in Kingsbridge. A rather talented American stallion runs it. Gregory Snorter. You might have heard of him. Always wears an all concealing hat for some reason.
Me: Like me?
Nell: Not even remotely like you.
Me: Oh.
Nell: He has a wonderful voice and a charming manner. I think he’s an old friend of Knitwear Wolf’s.
Me: Well, Knitwear Wolf has a lovely voice too.
Nell: Talking of lovely voices, did you hear Myfanwy’s solo at Morning Songs?
Me: No, I didn’t.
Nell: She sang ‘Honey, Honey’, an ABBA song and highly inappropriate for a Sunday morning. I was expecting carols.
Me: I love it.
Nell: Gladys and Alejandro were dancing around the house and the Welsh corgi choir joined in with great enthusiasm. Waving paws and performing pirouettes. Extraordinary behaviour.
Me: I wish I’d seen it.
Nell: Myfanwy was singing to Rupert, of course.
Me: Do you think he knows?
Nell: He has no idea. Where is David going with those sausages?
Me: The dining room?
Nell: It’s not upstairs. Stop him.
Me: Yes. Sorry.
