Nell: I know it’s Sunday and it’s cold outside but all this lazing around simply won’t do.
Me: Sundays are supposed to be lazy days.
Nell: Nigel’s refusing to get off the sofa. Harriet’s lounging around on your chair and David has fallen asleep in front of the fire. Again.
Me: That’s fine, Nell. Sunday Songs isn’t for a while yet.
Nell: I know, but vegetables still need peeling for the Sunday roast and David is on kitchen duty.
Me: He’ll get up as soon as he smells the bacon.
Nell: No, he won’t. There isn’t any bacon.
Me: No bacon?
Nell: No.
Me: On a Sunday?
Nell: Yes.
Me: But we always have bacon sandwiches on Sundays.
Nell: Not today.
Me: Did Herr Hoffmann forget to order any?
Nell: Frau Hoffmann did the ordering and she says there was a big pack in the refrigerator the last time she looked.
Me: Someone must have stolen it.
Nell: Check on top of the wardrobe.
Me: Don’t be silly.
Nell: I wouldn’t be surprised if that Stuffed Tiger is hiding it.
Me: The Stuffed Tiger can’t move.
Nell: It’s sly and secretive.
Me: Has Mothew seen anything?
Nell: He’s still asleep.
Me: Actually, you might have a point. An awful lot of them are still asleep this morning, or at least tired.
Nell: The llamas are still in pyjamas.
Me: And the Welsh Corgi Choir?
Nell: No sign of them yet.
Me: How strange? They’re usually here by now.
Nell: We’re usually eating bacon sandwiches by now.
Me: Could the two be linked?
Nell: Missing bacon and sleepiness?
Me: It’s an awfully disappointing start to a Sunday. Nobody wants to get out of bed for cereal.
Nell: This smells of a Sunday Sabotage to me.
Me: You might be right. Sorry.
