A ridiculous substitution

Me: You know when we go to the activity field?

Nell: Yes.

Me: I wouldn’t say you spend a lot of time there on actual activity.

Nell: How many times do I need to remind you that a sniffari is an important activity?

Me: And sitting and letting the wind blow through your ears?

Nell: That too. Anyway, enough about activity, it is wearing me out. Sunday is a day of rest.

Me: Kev and I will need a rest after last night.

Nell: Why?

Me: Harriet was sick. Several times. Let me tell you nothing makes you jump out of bed faster than that sound.

Nell: She seems fine now.

Me: Yes. Thank goodness.

Nell: Well, she won’t be allowed to have any of the ridiculous substitution for a roast dinner that Poppy is making. Lucky her.

Me: What ridiculous substitution?

Nell: Gooey mess.

Me: It sounds awful.

Nell: It’s a Mediterranean fish stew.

Me: Oh, you mean Bouillabaisse.

Nell: Do I? All I can say is Sundays are for roast dinners. It’s all Malcolm’s fault.

Me: Why? What has Malcolm got to do with it?

Nell: He only went and listened to Rupert and told Poppy about the shop bought scones.

Me: And being prawnless and alone?

Nell: Yes. Poppy was annoyed and scolded him for going to the Beefies and not telling her about his need for flamingo pinkness.

Me: Oh dear.

Nell: She said there will always be a prawn in the house for him here. Princess and Our Penguin go down to the sea every day and Terry is on claw to deliver fish if required.

Me: How lovely.

Nell: No, it isn’t. Now we’ve all got to eat fish stew. On a Sunday. With a French baguette. Not even roast potatoes.

Me: Yes. Sorry.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.