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.
Nell: With long trailing scarves.
Me: Goodness me.
Nell: And flowers in their hair.
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.