The Day after the Kevstival

Me: Harriet seemed a little tense at the Kevstival.

Nell: She was on duty.

Me: You were posing.

Nell: I was not.

Me: Dave stuck his face in the camera.

Nell: I wish he wouldn’t do that.

Me: Darling Big Brave Beautiful Boy.

Nell: I can’t believe those Beefies tried to sneak in. Where did they get tickets? From eBray I expect.

Me: Don’t you mean eBay?

Nell: Certainly not. It’s a marketplace run by donkeys.

Me: Oh, I see.

Nell: Trying to disguise themselves as blackbirds.

Me: The donkeys?

Nell: No. The Beefies. Do keep up. As if dipping your feathers in squid ink is going to fool anyone.

Me: It colours pasta.

Nell: It smells.

Me: Only of the sea and they are seagulls.

Nell: Beauregard saw through them at once, of course. There’s no fooling a tiger.

Me: Oliver and I were about to let them through. I’d already put garlands around their necks.

Nell: You’re far too trusting. I’m glad we took you off the door and put you on social media duties.

Me: The Welsh corgi choir were in fine form, weren’t they? Belting out show tunes like there’s no tomorrow.

Nell: Belting out? That’s not a very attractive description.

Me: They were quite loud, Nell.

Nell: They needed to be.

Me: The Whippets Institute can certainly kick up their heels when they want to.

Nell: They shouldn’t have been wearing heels. Everyone knows Wellington boots are the correct footwear at a festival.

Me: Well, Kev loved it all. Poppy’s street food was amazing.

Nell: Yes. It was just what we needed after the past year.

Me: Thank you for organising it, Nell. Where would we be without you?

Nell: You will never be without me. No matter what. You know that.

Me: Yes. Sorry.

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