Me: Are the Welsh Corgi Choir going to Riverdance their way through Sunday Songs?
Nell: Never mind that now. Poppy needs some vegetables peeled for the Sunday roast.
Me: But it isn’t St. Patrick’s Day anymore.
Nell: I know that and you know that, but the Welsh Corgi Choir aren’t quite there yet.
Me: They must have awfully tired legs. Look at them kicking away.
Nell: I’m afraid they don’t seem able to stop.
Me: Maybe we need to ask that Irish Wolfhound to play elsewhere.
Nell: What Irish Wolfhound?
Me: You can’t miss him, Nell. He’s the one in the sunglasses playing the fiddle in the middle of the field.
Nell: Oh, you mean Bonio. You can’t ask him to move on. He’s a superstar. We’re lucky he’s here. You must know his band.
Me: U2?
Nell: What do you mean ‘you too’? I already told you, I’m not bothering Bonio.
Me: Never mind.
Nell: Anyway, I need to talk to you about the robins.
Me: Not again.
Nell: Robyn feels you’re not acknowledging the ‘y’ in her name and Robin Junior says it’s only his father who’s called Rob.
Me: But it’s so much easier to call them by the same name. I never know which one it is.
Nell: I’m afraid that is totally unacceptable.
Me: Oh dear.
Nell: You wouldn’t call all dogs ‘Lassie’, now would you?
Me: Certainly not.
Nell: Or all lions ‘Simba’?
Me: Roary wouldn’t mind.
Nell: Lionel would never forgive you.
Me: I definitely wouldn’t call all wolves ‘Rupert’.
Nell: There is only one Knitwear Wolf.
Me: I’m glad to hear you say that, Nell, because sometimes I think you may have forgotten just how wonderful he is.
Nell: Rupert is not someone I would ever forget. Trust me.
Me: Yes. Sorry.
