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.
