Me: I have a few questions for you this morning.
Nell: Sundays are a day of rest.
Me: Why wake me at 5:30am then?
Nell: I couldn’t sleep.
Me: I could and so could everyone else until you woke us.
Nell: C’est la vie.
Me: No, that’s not life, Nell.
Nell: Babycakes Gillespie needed access to the kitchen. He’s never cooked a roast dinner before.
Me: That was my other question.
Nell: I’m all ears.
Me: Why is Babycakes wearing a chef’s hat? We haven’t even started advertising for a chef yet.
Nell: Poppy said hats must be worn in the kitchen.
Me: But what’s he doing here?
Nell: I might have mentioned the need for a Sunday roast and he might have volunteered to ‘give it a go’.
Me: Is anyone helping him?
Nell: Of course. You are.
Me: Excuse me?
Nell: And Kev’s an excellent cook. Not to mention David on Yorkshire puddings and Malcolm and Manuel on the side dishes.
Me: So, you’ve volunteered everyone else?
Nell: Not everyone. Sundays are roast days. Especially in January when it’s cold and dark. You know I’m right.
Me: I do not.
Nell: There’s nothing like the taste of roast beef and the satisfying crunch of a roast potato. Or a Yorkshire pudding slathered with lashings of gravy.
Me: You’re beginning to sound like me.
Nell: And besides, Herr Hoffmann showed signs of waking earlier so all this volunteering might be unnecessary.
Me: What?
Nell: In the meantime Babycakes has brought us all some morning bagels.
Me: Unbelievable.
Nell: He’s even made extra coffee for the Welsh Corgi Choir. Sunday Songs can be chilly at this time of year.
Me: Are you telling me you woke me this early for nothing?
Nell: Breakfast together is not nothing.
Me: No. Sorry.
