Nell: Don’t make a fuss of David, please.
Me: Why? Where is he?
Nell: On the sofa wrapped in a big towel. He won’t even play Cheeky Animals with Harriet.
Me: Poor darling Big Brave Beautiful Boy. Is he feeling the cold?
Nell: So he claims, but just ignore him. He needs to stop being such a Drama King.
Me: What happened?
Nell: Manuel put too much ice in his Shirley Temple.
Me: In his what?
Nell: I suppose I should have said cocktail, or even mocktail, although I’m not a fan of the word.
Me: What is Dave doing drinking mocktails at this time of the morning?
Nell: The Cat has chosen Manuel as bartender for the Platinum Jubilee celebrations.
Me: That makes sense. He’s ever so good with his tentacles and I can imagine him juggling cocktail shakers.
Nell: Exactly. Anyway, obviously he needs to practice so David and Harriet volunteered as his first testers.
Me: I see.
Nell: They were both thoroughly enjoying them, especially the Mango Mule, when David suddenly yelped.
Me: Oh dear.
Nell: He said the Shirley Temple had given him a body freeze.
Me: It shouldn’t have done that.
Nell: I don’t think it did.
Me: I thought you could only get a brain freeze?
Nell: Exactly. David is exaggerating wildly.
Me: Maybe it was just one mocktail too many?
Nell: Yes, that’s what I think. The nachos won’t have helped. I told Poppy to tone down the spice in the salsa.
Me: I prefer mine with guacamole.
Nell: This isn’t about you. David needs to get off the sofa and continue the tasting.
Me: Perhaps Manuel could leave out the ice?
Nell: I beg your pardon? A cocktail without ice is like a scone without jam and cream. Unthinkable.
Me: Yes. Sorry.
