Me: We are very lucky to live where we do, aren’t we?
Nell: Yes.
Me: To be able to walk in the Devon countryside with the sea breeze in our hair.
Nell: Good grief.
Me: Stopping only to drink some fresh cool water from a little stream weaving its way down to the sea.
Nell: Here we go.
Me: Rambling across the lush green fields to the sound of baby lambs and their mothers in the distance.
Nell: And the screaming of Beefies in tank tops.
Me: Don’t spoil the picture.
Nell: You get carried away sometimes.
Me: I wonder why the Beefies have to be quite so loud.
Nell: They like the sound of their own voices.
Me: Just imagine a Beefy choir.
Nell: No, thank you. I can’t think of anything worse.
Me: I don’t mind them that much. I grew up with the sound of seagulls all around me.
Nell: That explains a lot.
Me: The Welsh corgi choir have got nothing to worry about.
Nell: Nobody can sing like a corgi.
Me: The Welsh have wonderful voices.
Nell: Although David has a very pleasant baritone for an Oxfordshire born Labrador.
Me: Darling Big Brave Beautiful Boy. He’s been practising. He’s hoping to join Tony’s shanty crew when they start singing together again.
Nell: Life is slowly starting to get back to normal. Whatever normal is nowadays.
Me: It’s hard to look back on how life used to be. How we took our freedom for granted. Things have changed so much in a year, Nell.
Nell: They have in many ways. But not deep down, where it matters.
Me: No. I’m still me and you are you. We are going to be fine, aren’t we?
Nell: Of course we are. You and me. Always.
Me: Yes. Sorry.
