A Sunday Sensation

Nell: What is he doing here? It’s not lunchtime yet. He’s far too early.

Me: He probably wanted to listen to Sunday Songs. We know he likes jazz.

Nell: And that’s another thing.

Me: What?

Nell: How did the Welsh corgi choir know he was coming?

Me: Maybe they didn’t?

Nell: So you think it’s a coincidence that they’ve been singing jazz songs all morning and are wearing white gardenias in their hair like Billie Holiday?

Me: It is a Bank ‘Holiday’ weekend. See what I did there?

Nell: Very droll. And who booked the Whippets Institute band?

Me: Well, I’m thoroughly enjoying it all and so are the llamas. Look at them dancing.

Nell: Llamas will dance to raindrops. Now he’s playing the trumpet. Where did that come from?

Me: He had it with him I suppose.

Nell: Who takes a trumpet to Sunday lunch?

Me: Well, I think Beauregard is sensational.

Nell: And what kind of a name is that? Beauregard.

Me: It’s French for beautiful view and can also mean easy on the eye. And you’ve got to admit he is certainly one very handsome tiger.

Nell: Sharp suits and shiny shoes aren’t everything you know.

Me: Look at the fun everyone is having, Nell. Why don’t you just join in and stop worrying?

Nell: There is more to this than meets the eye. Mark my paws. Look at Sally. She is watching him closely even though she is dancing with David.

Me: She’s just smiling at him.

Nell: But the smile isn’t reaching her eyes. There is something not quite right about Beauregard and Sally knows it.

Me: Well, if Sally knows it then we’ve nothing to worry about.

Nell: What on earth is Gladys doing? Is that a rose in her teeth?

Me: Yes. Sorry.

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