'But I thought you were taking them straight to the Pickled Heifer?' said Norma.
'It wasn't that easy to control,' Horace replied. 'It just kept moving. Some of them fell off. I got bruised.'
And Horace pointed with his tail at several large bruises.
'He's fine!' Bertha called out.
'I'm sure you will be,' Norma added.
'I'm a poet,' Horace replied.
'Even so,' said Norma, 'they are only bruises.'
'He'll be fine!' Bertha repeated.
'Anyway,' Norma continued, 'I thought Cyril was helping you? I sent him to.'
'He said 'left a bit' at one point but apart from that he just kept trying to sell me a t-shirt,' Horace replied. 'I told him I didn't need one.'
Norma used up one of supply of sighs.
'Where is he now?' she asked.
'He said he was feeling peckish and wandered off.'
Norma used another sigh and made a mental note to buy some more.
'So, do you want me to try moving it again?' Horace asked.
'No,' Norma replied. 'Best leave it there for the time being. I think we need to get on with this meeting.'
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