Saturday Breakfasts

Me: You’re such a classic beauty, Nell.

Nell: Most kind of you to say so.

Me: It’s no wonder wolves and lions are falling in love with you.

Nell: I beg your pardon?

Me: You’re like Helen of Troy. ‘The face that launched a thousand ships.’

Nell: I have no idea what you’re talking about. Could we concentrate on our breakfast order, please?

Me: The usual bacon sandwich is fine for me, thank you.

Nell: No, it isn’t. David is on eggs and needs to be tested.

Me: A dippy egg then with soldiers on the side.

Nell: I think I’ll have a bacon omelette.

Me: That’s mean.

Nell: It has to be done. The last bacon omelette he made me had no bacon.

Me: I expect he forgot.

Nell: He ate it by mistake.

Me: The whole omelette?

Nell: No, just the bacon.

Me: Oh dear. Maybe you should order a plain omelette?

Nell: Nobody wants that on a Saturday.

Me: It would be much simpler.

Nell: The Cat has ordered a smoked salmon and scrambled eggs delivery.

Me: Delivery?

Nell: Yes, to the Big House. You know The Cat is never seen before 10am and always breakfasts in bed.

Me: I didn’t realise Poppy was offering deliveries.

Nell: She’s decided to give it a try.

Me: Is she covering all of Kingsbridge?

Nell: No, just the Big House, the Barn, the Nest and the Tree House.

Me: Has Dave got to deliver it too?

Nell: Of course not. The llamas will do that.

Me: I’m not sure that’s a good idea.

Nell: There’s nothing to worry about. They have special food containers strapped to their backs.

Me: But they’re always dancing, Nell. Especially in the mornings.

Nell: Lucky The Cat wants its eggs scrambled then.

Me: Yes. Sorry.

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