Me: When were you going to tell me?
Nell: Tell you what?
Me: About your latest admirer?
Nell: I beg your pardon?
Me: Who was the extremely fluffy, if elderly, Golden Retriever who came straight over as soon as he saw you on our walk?
Nell: That wasn’t an admirer. It was Uncle Archie.
Me: Uncle Archie?
Nell: Sally’s Uncle Archie to be exact. Former police commissioner now retired to Devon.
Me: How do you know him?
Nell: Everyone knows Archie. He’s the life and soul of the Salcombe yacht club.
Me: I don’t know him.
Nell: You don’t sail.
Me: Neither do you.
Nell: I do, occasionally.
Me: When forced to by Lionel King.
Nell: Don’t start that again.
Me: Does Lionel know Archie?
Nell: Yes. They’re not the best of friends.
Me: I can imagine. I learnt to sail in Salcombe, you know.
Nell: That was back in the 1970’s, wasn’t it?
Me: Yes. It’s a while ago now.
Nell: More than 50 years.
Me: You’re right. I’m suddenly feeling rather old.
Nell: None of us are getting any younger. Even the puppies are seven.
Me: They had a lovely day, didn’t they?
Nell: We all did.
Me: I think we should invite Uncle Archie over to tea.
Nell: We’ve certainly got enough leftovers from yesterday. Seven cakes. How ridiculous was that?
Me: Herr Hoffmann wanted to spoil them and it meant we had an excellent selection.
Nell: David sampled everything.
Me: I know and he licked the bowl when Herr Hoffmann was making them.
Nell: David always gets to the lick the bowl.
Me: Darling Big Brave Beautiful Boy.
Nell: With the emphasis on ‘big’.
Me: Uncle Archie’s going to be awfully happy to see you again so soon.
Nell: Stop that nonsense at once.
Me: Sorry.
