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