Me: Why are you hiding under the kitchen table?
Nell: Have they gone yet?
Me: Who?
Nell: Poppy and her Seven Sisters?
Me: They’re outside in the field Gliding with Gladys and the llamas. Petunia’s showing them some new moves.
Nell: Thank goodness. I can finally have my breakfast in peace. Could you pop a couple of slices of bread in the toaster, please, and fetch the butter and marmalade?
Me: Of course. So, are you finding having all the Poppys here a little exhausting?
Nell: I am, although David’s the one I feel really sorry for.
Me: Why?
Nell: They all adore him. Won’t leave him alone. Nibbling his ears, biting his nose and crawling all over him.
Me: Dave probably enjoys it. He loves affection.
Nell: He’s the Mayor of Kingsbridge. They should be showing him more respect.
Me: Except he isn’t actually the Mayor and you know it.
Nell: The Cake Competition is this weekend and it’s a huge responsibility.
Me: Isn’t Pamela the Pyrenean Mountain Dog judging it with him?
Nell: Yes, but as Mayor he has the final decision.
Me: It will all be fine, Nell. He knows his cakes. Darling Big Brave Beautiful Boy.
Nell: Yes, but it’s not about the size of the slice.
Me: Don’t worry. Dave knows what he’s doing.
Nell: Fortunately, The Cat has invited him to a Training Tea this afternoon.
Me: What’s a Training Tea?
Nell: Haven’t you ever been to one?
Me: No.
Nell: Cakes are awarded marks of up to ten and graded on taste, smell and feel.
Me: Feel? I don’t want to squidge a piece of cake in my fingers.
Nell: Then don’t. This is about the feel in your mouth. Is it moist, or dry? Do keep up.
Me: Oh, I see. Sorry.
