Nell: Nigel looks deep in thought.
Me: The responsibility of caring for someone you love who is unwell is a heavy one.
Nell: How is Charlotte?
Me: Extremely tired, of course, but insisting on going home later.
Nell: Oh dear.
Me: I’d rather keep her here longer.
Nell: Hopefully she will take it easy.
Me: I’ve told her to. Whether she listens is another matter.
Nell: Maybe Sunday Songs will help? Singing is good for the soul.
Me: Do you have Sunday Songs up there?
Nell: Of course. Poppy insists on singing sea shanties more often than I’d like but it’s still enjoyable.
Me: I like to think of all you Guardians singing away.
Nell: Will the llamas be dancing?
Me: Yes, on roller skates.
Nell: Good grief. Did Nigel go to the pub with Kev?
Me: He did. It’s their special time together.
Nell: Was that aggressive pug around?
Me: No. Thank goodness. Talking of pugs, can you Guardians fly?
Nell: I beg your pardon.
Me: Do your wings work?
Nell: What are you talking about?
Me: Don’t you have wings?
Nell: I’m a Labrador, not a flamingo.
Me: Don’t worry. Nobody could ever confuse you with a flamingo, Nell.
Nell: Well, stop all this wings nonsense, please.
Me: Do you remember the flamingo who flew to France around this time last year? It was called Frankie, wasn’t it?
Nell: Yes. Can we get back to today? Make sure Charlotte and Nigel don’t leave until they’ve eaten a good Sunday roast.
Me: I will.
Nell: Roast beef, roast potatoes, carrots and parsnips, fresh vegetables and Yorkshire puddings with lots of gravy should do the trick.
Me: Herr Hoffmann is peeling potatoes as we speak.
Nell: And no horseradish.
Me: But Charlotte loves it.
Nell: Not anymore.
Me: No. Sorry.
