Thursday, 8 October 2009
illness, poetry and good grass soup.
'But I don't know the first thing about writing poetry!' exclaimed Bertha.
'Mand uw sey Howice wis wup win der kwos mest?' asked Norma.
'Pardon?' replied Bertha.
'I said,' said Norma, who had taken the thermometer out of her mouth. 'And you say Horace is up in the cows nest?'
'Yes!' replied Bertha, 'I mean what's the point of that? I thought Captain Bill was swapping us around so that I could come down and look after you!'
'No Annie's doing that,' said Norma. 'It's only a bit of a chill anyway. I'll be fine in a day or two and Cyril made me some lovely grass soup with a touch of clover brandy in it!'
'Well I could have stayed where I was then!' said Bertha and Norma agreed that she could.
'So,' asked Norma after a moment or two, 'if you're down here and Horace is up there...and Annie's looking after me and Cyril's cooking soup....who's actually steering the ship?'
'Geraldine,' replied Bertha.
'GERALDINE!' mooed Norma, 'thank goodness for that! I thought for a minute Captain Bill might have been having a go on his own!'