Nell: The world’s gone mad.
Me: I’m not going to argue with that.
Nell: David’s sleeping in the smallest bed and the Stuffed Tiger is facing the wrong way.
Me: What do you mean?
Nell: It’s turned itself around. Sly animal.
Me: It can’t have done, Nell. It’s stuffed.
Nell: I don’t know what good staring at the wall is going to do.
Me: It’s a cat thing. They can do it for hours.
Nell: The Cat doesn’t do it.
Me: The Cat’s different.
Nell: You’re telling me. Did you put up the posters of Rupert?
Me: Yes, but don’t you think we’d know if he was still in the village?
Nell: Not if he’s been kidnapped and trapped in a small barn.
Me: A small barn? That’s rather specific.
Nell: We have a lot of them in this village.
Me: Is this a new theory?
Nell: Sometimes things are hiding in plain sight.
Me: True. Maybe we need to search the barns?
Nell: Henry and Horst are already on the case.
Me: But they’re woodlice, Nell. It’s going to take them an awfully long time to get to a barn let alone search it.
Nell: David will take them on his hat when he wakes up.
Me: Are you sure Dave’s the right animal for the job? Don’t you think a giant Labrador in a cowboy hat might get noticed?
Nell: He won’t be wearing a cowboy hat.
Me: Good.
Nell: He’ll be wearing a flat cap.
Me: Oh, I see.
Nell: And Wellington boots.
Me: He’ll need them with all this rain. The lanes are so muddy.
Nell: Exactly.
Nell: On another note, who was playing the drums at 8am this morning?
Me: I don’t know.
Nell: Well, find out. Mondays are difficult enough already.
Me: Yes. Sorry.
