Harriet is Keeping Secrets

Me: Harriet is Keeping Secrets.

Nell: She’s a spy. It’s her job.

Me: She’s downstairs on my chair bathed in the rosy morning light and she’s not telling me something.

Nell: Bathed in the rosy morning light? Good grief.

Me: She’s got her ‘Don’t ask me questions, please. I’m just an innocent puppy’ face on.

Nell: She’s very good at that face.

Me: Yes. I don’t think anyone does it better.

Nell: I agree.

Me: So, what’s she not telling me?

Nell: How should I know?

Me: I think you and Harriet are both not telling me the same thing.

Nell: Stuff and nonsense. Eat your croissant and leave Harriet alone.

Me: These croissants are delicious. I can’t believe Poppy made them.

Nell: She didn’t. It was all Manuel’s work.

Me: Who knew an octopus could be such a good baker?

Nell: It’s all in the tentacles, apparently.

Me: I suppose it would be. He could probably win ‘The Great British Bake Off’.

Nell: That’s never going to happen.

Me: Never say never.

Nell: I just did.

Me: Never mind.

Nell: I thought we weren’t saying ‘never’.

Me: Okay, Mrs Clever Clogs. You win.

Nell: Myfanwy will be singing a solo at today’s Sunday Songs, by the way.

Me: Lovely. What’s she singing?

Nell: ‘All By Myself’.

Me: Oh dear.

Nell: Quite. Far too gloomy for a Sunday Morning.

Me: I have to agree.

Nell: And to make matters worse Gladys and the llamas will be performing an interpretive dance.

Me: Gosh.

Nell: With long trailing scarves.

Me: Goodness me.

Nell: And flowers in their hair.

Me: Interesting.

Nell: It’s got chaos written all over it.

Me: I can’t wait.

Nell: You won’t have to. I can see them gathering in the field. Is that a harp?

Me: Yes. Sorry.

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