Sandy Sandwiches

Me: Thank you for yesterday, Nell. A picnic on the beach was just what I needed.

Nell: Yes, it was delightful.

Me: Harriet was on great form, rolling around in the seaweed and rushing in and out of the sea. She does love it.

Nell: Yes. David thought she was a pile of moving seaweed at one point. He was quite shocked.

Me: I know he was. My darling Big Brave Beautiful Boy thought Harriet was a seaweed monster. Bless him.

Nell: Yes. He told Poppy all about it on our walk.

Me: What did she say?

Nell: She said, ‘I just hope the monster isn’t expecting a scotch egg, because some have already gone missing and supplies are low.’

Me: Oh dear. What did Dave say?

Nell: David wisely said nothing.

Me: It was probably one of the Beefies.

Nell: I think we both know that in this instance the Beefies were not to blame.

Me: A large one in a hat was definitely eating something.

Nell: That was a mackerel. It looked nothing like a scotch egg.

Me: Anyway, the picnic was delicious and we managed to get sand in our sandwiches which is just as it should be.

Nell: Personally I prefer a sandless sandwich but each to their own.

Me: It reminds me of my childhood. Somehow the sand always used to creep in everywhere. Do you think that’s why they are called sand-wiches?

Nell: No. Talking of creeping in everywhere, you might want to give your bed a brief dusting down.

Me: Why?

Nell: Poppy may have brought in a little of the beach when she shared your bed last night.

Me: I only just changed the sheets.

Nell: So clean sheets are more important than a comforting cuddle?

Me: Of course not. Sorry.

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