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.
