Me: It’s very hard to accept today is our last day on the main beach until October.
Nell: You can go there whenever you like.
Me: I meant together.
Nell: Rules are rules.
Me: I still think it should be no dogs from June to September. That’s more than enough.
Nell: There’s no point in crying over a leaky bowl.
Me: It’s spilt milk.
Nell: I prefer water in my bowl, but each to their own.
Me: It’s still terribly unfair to exclude you all.
Nell: Moving on, rumour has it that David might be crowned tomorrow.
Me: It’s only Best Mayor, Nell. I don’t think there will be any crowns.
Nell: I beg to differ. According to the Daily Growl a crown is a distinct possibility.
Me: Will Dave have to go up to London to accept it?
Nell: Probably. I’m not sure if the King is up to hosting with his recent illness, but I’m sure William, or Anne, will oblige.
Me: I think you might be getting a little carried away there.
Nell: We’ll see.
Me: Do you think he’ll get tapped on the shoulder with a sword?
Nell: Not unless he really annoys someone.
Me: I meant officially. In a ceremony?
Nell: I suppose Sir David is a possibility, but he might need to win a few more times first.
Me: He should be allowed a plus one. Or even a two, or three?
Nell: If he’s taking anyone, it will be Sally.
Me: What about more than one? Am I in with a chance? He is my Big Brave Beautiful Boy.
Nell: I’m sorry to break this to you, but Harriet and I have already organised our hats.
Me: I’ve got a hat. It’s even all encasing.
Nell: David ate it. Remember?
Me: Yes. Sorry.
