Me: Dave is the best of nurses. He keeps such a close eye on me.
Nell: I prefer to call him a Companion. He isn’t medically trained, you know.
Me: Oh yes. I forgot you were once the matron of a London hospital.
Nell: I was many things in my younger days.
Me: Those hats must have been a proper nuisance.
Nell: We were proud to wear them.
Me: Anyway, Dave has been doing an excellent job. He even managed to carry my roast dinner upstairs yesterday without much slippage.
Nell: Was there one Yorkshire pudding, or two?
Me: I don’t remember.
Nell: He ate both of them, didn’t he?
Me: I couldn’t say. I’m not very well.
Nell: Moving on, it’s your sister’s birthday tomorrow.
Me: It is.
Nell: In past years, her birthday has been spent at the Cottage Hotel.
Me: I know. Kev and I usually joined her there for dinner.
Nell: But this year you are all laid low with this dreadful Canadian cold.
Me: It might be Portuguese. Chris was in Lisbon.
Nell: Either way, the Cottage Hotel is not an option.
Me: No, I’m afraid it isn’t.
Nell: I’ve been talking to Herr Hoffmann and we think an afternoon tea might be just the thing.
Me: Yes, that’s a good idea.
Nell: A selection of sandwiches, crusts off, and some freshly baked scones with jam and cream should lift her spirits.
Me: It will definitely lift mine.
Nell: You’re not the birthday girl.
Me: No, matron.
Nell: I am no longer a matron.
Me: It still suits you.
Nell: I’ll let Herr Hoffmann know about tomorrow’s tea. In the meantime you can finish your porridge.
Me: I don’t really feel like porridge.
Nell: It’s good for you.
Me: Yes, matron.
Nell: Enough.
Me: Sorry.
