Me: Have you noticed a change in Dave since he was crowned Best Mayor?
Nell: What do you mean?
Me: He has a statesmanly air about him.
Nell: It’s statesmanlike.
Me: A sort of weightiness.
Nell: You mean gravitas.
Me: I can see why the Beefies call him ‘Your Majesty’.
Nell: Don’t you start.
Me: I mean he’s always had film star looks. Darling Big Brave Beautiful Boy.
Nell: David is a handsome animal.
Me: But now he has a new confidence.
Nell: He’s going to be 7 in June. He’s growing up.
Me: But I don’t want him to grow up. I love his boyishness.
Nell: You know, and I know, that David will always be a boy. It’s in his nature.
Me: Yes, you’re right.
Nell: Now, the sun is shining and you have guests this afternoon.
Me: I do. My sister Charlotte and two dear old friends whom I haven’t seen in years.
Nell: Herr Hoffmann has made a cake and I suggest we serve it outside on the terrace.
Me: Will it be warm enough?
Nell: Coats can be worn and we have blankets.
Me: True.
Nell: And being outside means everyone can join in.
Me: What do you mean by everyone? Not the Beefy Choir?
Nell: What are you talking about? Of course we’re not inviting the Beefy Choir.
Me: Thank goodness for that.
Nell: The Welsh Corgi Choir would be furious.
Me: Are they performing?
Nell: Only some gentle background singing from the field.
Me: I see.
Nell: And the llamas have promised to keep the cartwheeling to a minimum. You’ll hardly notice them.
Me: If you say so.
Nell: I’m pulling your leg. David will serve the cake and Harriet and I will join you for a cup of tea.
Me: Right. Sorry.
