Wild Behaviour and Cold Soup

Me: You know how Harriet goes wild at the beach?

Nell: I do. She never stops running.

Me: I think she might just be generally wild on walks.

Nell: I’m inclined to agree. There we were walking along minding our own business when she shot out of the bushes at full speed.

Me: And ran straight down to the river.

Nell: And back out again.

Me: She had a wonderful time though, didn’t she?

Nell: We all did, to be fair.

Me: Yes. There’s something extremely relaxing about a walk along a leafy river bank in the summer sunshine.

Nell: Not when Harriet’s around.

Me: Even The New Poppy seemed strangely relaxed.

Nell: Don’t talk to me about The New Poppy. Did you hear what we’re having for lunch?

Me: No.

Nell: Cold soup.

Me: What?

Nell: Nasty cold soup and not even freshly baked crunchy bread spread thickly with farmhouse butter on the side. David is devastated.

Me: My poor Big Brave Beautiful Boy. Can’t we heat it up?

Nell: Apparently not. It’s meant to be cold. The New Poppy said she might throw a few croutons on the top if she has time. Whatever they are.

Me: This can’t go on.

Nell: No, it cannot. David has become a shadow of his former self.

Me: Oh dear.

Nell: He’s the Mayor of Kingsbridge. He needs sustenance.

Me: Except he isn’t.

Nell: We’re going to have to stage an Intervention.

Me: Goodness me.

Nell: The New Poppy needs to give us some answers right now.

Me: Yes, preferably before lunch because I’m not eating cold soup.

Nell: This isn’t about soup.

Me: It is a bit. I can’t stand the stuff.

Nell: No. It’s about Our Poppy. It’s her birthday tomorrow and we need her back.

Me: Yes. Sorry.

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