Nell: Are you still lounging in bed?
Me: It’s Sunday, and I’m not lounging. I’m cuddling Harriet and chatting to Dave.
Nell: You’re going to be late for Sunday Songs if you don’t get your act together soon.
Me: I’ve got plenty of time, Nell. Come and join us.
Nell: I don’t believe this.
Me: What’s wrong?
Nell: Would you like to explain why there’s a Stuffed Tiger sitting on the top of your wardrobe?
Me: It likes the view.
Nell: It’s intrusive. You can’t just sit on someone’s wardrobe.
Me: I don’t mind at all. In fact, I quite like having it there.
Nell: Nigel isn’t going to like it.
Me: Don’t tell him then. Anyway, Nigel wouldn’t like it wherever it was sitting. He can’t stand the Stuffed Tiger.
Nell: It eavesdrops, you know.
Me: There’s nothing to hear.
Nell: I beg your pardon? We have some of our best conversations in this room. It’s where you write.
Me: You’ve never complained about the flamingo on my desk.
Nell: Flamingos are fine. Everyone knows that. Look at Malcolm.
Me: Please tell me he isn’t still making scones.
Nell: No. That stopped as soon as Rupert managed to have a quiet word with Herr Hoffmann.
Me: Good old Knitwear Wolf. Has he made him see sense?
Nell: Let’s just say his eyes have been opened.
Me: Is he very shocked?
Nell: More sad than shocked. He trusted the Beefies.
Me: You can never trust a Beefy.
Nell: He realises that now.
Me: Are we back on for Sunday roast now Herr Hoffmann’s seen sense?
Nell: Yes, and bacon sandwiches for our second breakfast.
Me: All is right with the world.
Nell: Well, let’s just say all is right with our little world. For the time being.
Me: Yes. Sorry.
