Me: Why are you lot hiding up here?
Nell: We’re not. We’re just enjoying Sunday Songs from your bedroom.
Me: Sunday Songs finished ages ago.
Nell: Did they? I must have nodded off.
Me: Dave looks particularly guilty.
Nell: Does he?
Me: And Harriet looks shifty.
Nell: I can’t think why.
Me: Poppy is the only one who doesn’t seem particularly bothered.
Nell: Poppy is naturally fearless.
Me: Ha! I knew you were up to something.
Nell: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Me: All that noise first thing this morning. Barking and running. And why do I keep finding pieces of dog towel everywhere?
Nell: If you must know we suddenly found ourselves taking part in a game of Dog of War.
Me: Do you mean tug of war?
Nell: No, although tugging was involved.
Me: I know. I found the dog towel in shreds.
Nell: It all got a little out of paw when Harriet seemed to be beating David. Poppy and I felt obliged to cheer her on.
Me: Did you have to choose Sunday morning for this? Kev and I have been ever so busy and were hoping for a lie in.
Nell: Dog of War can never be predicted. It just comes upon you. One is powerless to resist.
Me: What rubbish.
Nell: I’m sure a bacon sandwich and a cuddle with David will help.
Me: It might.
Nell: Poppy is preparing roast chicken for Sunday dinner with sausages, stuffing and lots of roasted vegetables.
Me: With cranberry sauce?
Nell: Yes, and lashings of her special gravy.
Me: I suppose that does make the day sound a little brighter. Did you just say lashings?
Nell: Yes. Why?
Me: You never say lashings. It’s not a Nell word.
Nell: It is now.
Me: Yes. Sorry.
