Me: Naughty Nigel winked at me.

Nell: And your problem is?

Me: I don’t know why he did it.

Nell: Does there have to be a reason?

Me: I suppose not.

Nell: Can’t an animal wink if it feels like doing so?

Me: It’s an unusual thing to do. I wondered if he and I were sharing a secret I didn’t know about.

Nell: Did you hear what you just said?

Me: Maybe he told me something I forgot?

Nell: Good grief.

Me: It happens occasionally, now I’m getting older.

Nell: If you must know, Nigel has been chosen by the Daily Growl as one of the judges for Our Devon Darling.

Me: Well, that’s good news for Harriet. He’s bound to vote for her.

Nell: Nigel is an undercover judge,

Me: What?

Nell: Nobody is supposed to know except for the other judges.

Me: Why do I know about him?

Nell: I just told you.

Me: So, Nigel shouldn’t really have winked at me?

Nell: No, he should not.

Me: At least that explains why we’re calling him Naughty Nigel again.

Nell: We’ve plenty of time. He’s here all week.

Me: Charlotte and Kerry need a holiday and Nigel is always welcome.

Nell: Unlike Nutkin and that awful chicken.

Me: You invited them to tea.

Nell: It might have been a mistake. The Cat is furious.

Me: It’s understandable. Lady C shouldn’t have pecked the flowers off its hat during Sunday Songs.

Nell: And Nutkin shouldn’t have eaten the nuts.

Me: I did wonder why The Cat had decorated its hat with real produce.

Nell: It was a celebration of autumn.

Me: Oh, I see. Now it makes sense. “Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness.’

Nell: Don’t start all that again. I’ve an afternoon tea to organise.

Me: Sorry.

Me: Can we discuss Dog and Dash?

Nell: The activity field?

Me: Yes. I know you like to take your time.

Nell: I do.

Me: And that’s the beauty of the field. The puppies can run around as much as they like and you can just sit and ponder.

Nell: Exactly.

Me: Why were you lying in the semi circle of tree trunks?

Nell: It’s where we take a breather.

Me: Kev and I sometimes do, but you can rest where you like.

Nell: We rest as a family.

Me: We were in another part of the field.

Nell: I knew you’d be back soon. Sometimes all you need to do is wait.

Me: I see.

Nell: Talking of waiting, The Cat is downstairs.

Me: It’s never normally up this early on a Sunday.

Nell: It’s waiting for an omelette.

Me: It might need to wait a long time.

Nell: Actually, Manuel is preparing it an Omelette Arnold Bennett.

Me: What’s that?

Nell: An indulgent omelette with rich, creamy béchamel sauce, smoked haddock and cheese.

Me: Gosh.

Nell: It was created for Arnold Bennett in 1929 by a chef at the Savoy Hotel in London.

Me: You’re a mine of information this morning.

Nell: I’ve been listening to The Cat. It knows about that chicken and Nutkin, by the way.

Me: Don’t call Lady C ‘that chicken’.

Nell: The Cat did.

Me: The Cat has a reason. She was rude about its hat.

Nell: Well, it’s wearing a huge picture hat this morning for Sunday Songs. Very My Fair Lady.

Me: The Cat isn’t a lady.

Nell: Whatever. When Nutkin and that chicken arrive you can expect fur to fly.

Me: The tea isn’t today, is it?

Nell: Sunday Songs is for everyone. Even chickens and squirrels.

Me: Yes. Sorry.

Me: Dave simply adores Tony, doesn’t he?

Nell: Visits from Tony are the highlight of David’s day.

Me: You and Harriet seem fairly excited about it, too.

Nell: Tony is a dear friend.

Me: During lockdown he was our only friend and a gateway to the outside world.

Nell: Strange to remember that now.

Me: Yes.

Nell: Talking of strange, I just got off the iBone with Lady Constance Eggbuckland and she said a strange thing.

Me: Why were you talking to Lady C?

Nell: David and I thought it would be a good idea to invite her to tea next week.

Me: Why? You don’t like her.

Nell: She’s a fellow judge and she could meet Harriet in her natural habitat and see what a beautiful soul she is, inside and out.

Me: Natural habitat?

Nell: Yes. I thought Harriet could stroll through the fields nonchalantly and then join us for tea.

Me: She’ll be all muddy. And Harriet never strolls nonchalantly anywhere. She always runs.

Nell: Never mind. That isn’t the point. Lady C asked me if I’d invited the squirrel, too.

Me: Squirrel?

Nell: You’re doing that repeating thing again.

Me: Why did she mention a squirrel?

Nell: It’s one of the judges.

Me: I hope she means Squirrel Nutkin.

Nell: I don’t. Nutkin is so rude and outspoken.

Me: If Nutkin is coming, you should definitely invite The Cat.

Nell: It’s supposed to be about showcasing Harriet.

Me: I know, but just imagine the shenanigans if you put Lady C, Squirrel Nutkin and The Cat together in one room.

Nell: If I’m inviting The Cat, I’ll have to invite Lionel King and Stephen Seagull.

Me: Then you have to invite me, too.

Nell: You’re not a contestant, or a judge.

Me: I’m not missing this. Sorry.

Me: I could be mistaken here, but I felt you weren’t that enthusiastic on our walk.

Nell: It was freezing.

Me: No, it wasn’t. Stop exaggerating.

Nell: Fine. It was extremely cold and rainy.

Me: Other people have had much more rain than we have, Nell. There’s been a lot of flooding.

Nell: I’m very sorry to hear that, but it still doesn’t take away from our dreadful weather.

Me: What can I say? It’s autumn, ‘season of mists and mellow fruitfulness.‘

Nell: I beg your pardon? I’m talking about rain, not fruit.

Me: I’m quoting from John Keats’ poem ‘To Autumn’. He’s one of my favourite poets.

Nell: I’m a poet and you never quote me.

Me: I do, Nell. Inside my head I often think ‘what would Nell say?’

Nell: Inside your head?

Me: Yes.

Nell: That’s no good to anyone. Poets need to be heard.

Me: Maybe you should have a cup of Earl Grey in front of the fire? You’re a little out of sorts.

Nell: Yes. Could you ask Rupert to bring me my towelling robe?

Me: Your what?

Nell: He’s made me a robe to dry my coat after a wet walk.

Me: How kind of him.

Nell: He’s a very thoughtful wolf.

Me: You should probably start wearing a raincoat when you go out.

Nell: I’m doing nothing of the sort. Raincoats are for llamas and corgis.

Me: Nonsense.

Nell: You could carry an umbrella.

Me: I don’t like umbrellas.

Nell: It’s not for you. It’s for me.

Me: So, you want me to walk beside you with an umbrella?

Nell: Exactly.

Me: You’re becoming a bigger diva than The Cat.

Nell: I am not. And don’t let it hear you say that. Nobody is more diva than The Cat.

Me: No. Sorry.

Me: I wish it would stop raining.

Nell: Don’t we all.

Me: I can’t help but feel rather down.

Nell: I know what you mean.

Me: Harriet’s lost in thought.

Nell: Yes, and David’s asleep on the torn sofa.

Me: Darling Big Brave Beautiful Boy.

Nell: You need to repair it.

Me: I’m not very good at that sort of thing. I usually cover it with one of Knitwear Wolf’s soft blankets.

Nell: What you need is an antimacassar.

Me: I haven’t heard that word in years. My stepfather used to have them.

Nell: Sensible man.

Me: The trouble is they keep slipping off.

Nell: Talking of trouble, you’re not going to believe this.

Me: I might.

Nell: The Daily Growl has asked a chicken to be one of the judges.

Me: A chicken?

Nell: A hen, to be exact. Lady Constance Eggbuckland.

Me: Goodness me.

Nell: The Cat’s absolutely furious about it.

Me: Why?

Nell: They don’t get on at all. They clashed at Ascot.

Me: Why?

Nell: Lady C is rather old school in her ways. She disapproves of The Cat’s flamboyance.

Me: The Cat doesn’t usually care what anyone thinks.

Nell: She was rude about its hat.

Me: Oh, it won’t have liked that.

Nell: It didn’t. But that’s not the only thing I dislike about her.

Me: You’re not being chickenist now, are you?

Nell: No. My friend Dorothy says for all her hoity-toity ways Lady C has a penchant for the dark and dangerous.

Me: She’s not involved with that lion, is she?

Nell: Lionel isn’t dark and dangerous.

Me: I beg to disagree.

Nell: But Stephen Seagull is, and so is NOIR.

Me: The Notorious Organisation of International Rooks?

Nell: Exactly.

Me: But she’s a chicken.

Nell: They all have feathers.

Me: True. Sorry.

Me: Dave just whispered a secret in your ear, didn’t he?

Nell: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Me: You were hiding behind my footstool and Dave came over and told you something that made you close your eyes.

Nell: You need to stop making something out of nothing.

Me: What did he tell you?

Nell: It’s just gossip.

Me: I want to know.

Nell: You won’t like it.

Me: Tell me.

Nell: Word on the street is Lionel is entering the competition.

Me: What competition?

Nell: The one in the Daily Growl.

Me: Lionel King wants to be Our Devon Darling?

Nell: It’s probably nonsense.

Me: Why on earth would that wretched lion think anyone would want to vote for him?

Nell: He’s a better option than Stephen Seagull.

Me: Stephen Seagull’s entering, too?

Nell: Yes.

Me: Head of the evil gang the Beefies?

Nell: I know who he is.

Me: This cannot be true.

Nell: That’s what I said, but it seems it is. The Cat is not going to like this at all.

Me: Nobody is. Thank goodness you and Dave are the judges.

Nell: We’re not the only judges.

Me: Aren’t you?

Nell: Of course not. The Daily Growl cannot be seen to have a Labrador bias.

Me: I suppose not. Who are the others?

Nell: I have no idea, but we should know soon.

Me: Knitwear Wolf would be the perfect judge.

Nell: I agree.

Me: So would Owl Pacino.

Nell: I don’t think the Royal Owl Force would agree to it.

Me: I wouldn’t mind being a judge.

Nell: Don’t be ridiculous.

Me: I would be fair and unbiased as long as Harriet wins.

Nell: They can’t have three Martins on the judging panel. Two is already excessive.

Me: Yes. You’re right. Sorry.

Nell: You need to talk to David. He’s dreadfully worried.

Me: Why?

Nell: He saw the video.

Me: What video?

Nell: The video Chloe from Canterbury Bears sent you.

Me: The one showing how they make the Cuddle Nell?

Nell: Yes. The one you decided to share with everyone.

Me: Why is he worried?

Nell: Have you seen it?

Me: Of course I have. It’s fascinating.

Nell: They use needles and scissors and big pieces of wood.

Me: Yes. It’s all handmade, Nell. That’s why I thought people might be interested in seeing it.

Nell: David isn’t sure the Cuddle Nells should be treated like that.

Me: They can’t feel anything, Nell. They’re stuffed.

Nell: Like the Stuffed Tiger.

Me: The Stuffed Tiger is from China. There’s nothing handmade about it.

Nell: The Stuffed Tiger is Chinese?

Me: Most things are nowadays. It’s a special thing that the Cuddle Nells are handmade in the UK.

Nell: All I can say is, after seeing that video, they certainly deserve a cuddle.

Me: Yes, they do and the 10% discount is only until the end of September, so I wanted to remind everyone to use the NELL10 discount while they still can.

Nell: You’d better post the link again.

Me: It’s https://www.canterburybears.com/products/nell.

Nell: Next time you decide to share videos like that please warn me. David is traumatised.

Me: The Cuddle Nells are all fine. He has no reason to worry about them at all. Chloe from Canterbury Bears knows exactly what she’s doing.

Nell: At least we know they will be going to a good home.

Me: Yes, and they will be treasured. Just like you.

Nell: It’s actually rather nice to think of that.

Me: It is. I just wish everyone could have one.

Nell: They know.

Me: Yes. Sorry.

Me: Today’s conversation is dedicated to a very special lady who sadly died on 12th September.

Nell: We only learned about this yesterday from her daughter.

Me: I hadn’t heard anything from Glenys for a few weeks so I feared the worst.

Nell: She was a loyal supporter of our conversations and followed us way back in 2018 when we first started posting.

Me: Her name is Glenys Williams and many of you will have seen her poems in the comments over the years.

Nell: I never knew what she would say next.

Me: She was quite a character and remained so until the end.

Nell: We were trying to decide what to do and then you thought you would write her a poem.

Me: Yes. I think that’s what she would have liked. So, Glenys, I hope you enjoy this:

‘Glenys loved a poem

The bonkers, the better.

She loved writing them, too

We so wish we’d met her.

Glenys was a friend

We loved very much,

And right to the end

She still kept in touch.

She continued to smile

At the things that Nell said,

Posting comments and poems 

From her hospital bed.

We’ll miss you, dear Glenys,

But never you fear

The conversations will continue

That you held so dear.

You’re a Guardian now

Watching over us all.

Laughing with Poppy

And having a ball.

Delightfully bonkers

And brave as can be.

We salute you, dear Glenys,

You lovely lady.’

Nell: Well done. It can’t have been easy to write.

Me: She will be sadly missed but at least her suffering is over.

Nell: Yes, and our hearts go out to her family and friends.

Me: I never met her but she was a dear friend.

Nell: I know.

Me: Sorry.

Nell: No sorries. Not today.

Nell: You’re not going to believe this.

Me: I might.

Nell: Today is Sunday.

Me: I know.

Nell: We always have two breakfasts.

Me: We do.

Nell: Cereal, or porridge, first thing.

Me: Yes.

Nell: To stave off any hunger pangs.

Me: A slight exaggeration, but I know what you mean.

Nell: And bacon sandwiches before Sunday Songs to help us through the busy morning.

Me: It’s not that busy.

Nell: Sunday Songs is always busy.

Me: It’s busier for the actual performers. You get a bacon sandwich for watching.

Nell: I join in the chorus, when asked.

Me: So, what won’t I believe?

Nell: Harriet and I were given small bowls.

Me: What do you mean?

Nell: And to add insult to injury Harriet’s bowl was chipped and mine was half the size of hers.

Me: Oh dear.

Nell: It was barely a bowl. It was more like one of those tiny little containers for peanuts with your G and T.

Me: I don’t drink G and T.

Nell: That’s not the point. Someone is reducing the portions.

Me: The thing is you have to lose weight.

Nell: I’m having chicken for lunch.

Me: But it’s roast chicken, with roast potatoes and gravy.

Nell: There’s cauliflower.

Me: Cauliflower cheese.

Nell: And runner beans from Tony’s garden.

Me: Yes, I’m really looking forward to those. It was so kind of him to bring them.

Nell: David wasn’t given a small bowl.

Me: Dave maintains his weight, Nell. He’s always a steady 47 kilos.

Nell: That’s nearly twice as much as me.

Me: Dave’s twice your size.

Nell: I hope you are not going to suggest limiting the Yorkshire puddings?

Me: Some people would say Yorkshire puddings don’t go with chicken.

Nell: Then some people would be wrong.

Me: Yes. Sorry.

Me: Now Dave wants a selfie.

Nell: Ridiculous behaviour, if you ask me.

Me: Doesn’t he realise he can’t be Our Devon Darling?

Nell: You told him he is.

Me: No, I said he’s My Darling Big Brave Beautiful Boy.

Nell: You shouldn’t have done that.

Me: He is.

Nell: You know the Beefies want to enter?

Me: Seriously?

Nell: It’s Herr Hoffmann’s fault.

Me: Why?

Nell: He calls them his ‘darlink leetle girls’.

Me: Still?

Nell: Yes. Frau Hoffmann isn’t happy about it.

Me: I don’t blame her. They’re hooligans.

Nell: And scoundrels.

Me: Exactly.

Nell: Nobody’s going to vote for them.

Me: The rooks will. And so will the crows and seagulls.

Nell: Susan won’t, and neither will Terry.

Me: They’re exceptional seagulls.

Nell: Somebody said the Stuffed Tiger was going to throw its collar into the ring.

Me: You mean hat.

Nell: I do not. Stuffed Tigers don’t wear hats.

Me: They don’t wear collars, either.

Nell: Mothew says it’s got all sorts hidden on top of the wardrobe.

Me: I hope it hasn’t. We’ve got a viewing today.

Nell: When?

Me: Lunchtime.

Nell: Let’s have lunch at the Cottage Hotel.

Me: We can’t, Nell. There are far too many of us.

Nell: The llamas can have a picnic by the river.

Me: We all can. I’m sure Herr Hoffmann will make us some sandwiches.

Nell: Every time we have a viewing I’m driven from my home.

Me: Oh dear.

Nell: Walking down to the beach is like joining a travelling circus.

Me: You don’t walk, Nell. Knitwear Wolf takes you in his sidecar.

Nell: I’m a senior Labrador.

Me: Rupert’s organised a really soft blanket for you to lie on.

Nell: I’m too old for this upheaval.

Me: We need to sell the house, Nell. Sorry.