For She Is Beloved

There is water all over the floor.

It's not our fault, says Terence. There was a crack in the bowl.

That's there to make sure we do the dishes quickly, says Méen. But don't worry about it. We have some good news.

My bird! cries Baldy.

No, Terence's bird, says Méen. Unless you are sharing Saint Roley.

We're NOT! says Terence. HIS bird is coming in four thousand years.

Forty! says Baldy.

What's this nonsense, says Méen.

Gaius said it, says Baldy.

He did not, says Méen. Now, come over here to Saint Roley. You too, Butterball. Stop picking at that globby potato. What would the Virgin say!

Butterball stops picking the globby lumps of potato out of the bowl, from which the washing up water has drained, and follows everyone across to Saint Roley.

Wah! cries Terence. What's happened!

An imbalance of electrical charges, says Saint Roley.  Or so I am told.

Saint Roley can talk! cries Terence. Say something else!

Where is oyster granny? asks Saint Roley.

In the washing up bowl, says Butterball. I'll get her.

I must bury her in the sand at Cancale , says Saint Roley. For she is beloved.

I'll help you, says Baldy.

This is MY parrot, says Terence. I'll help him.

We'll all help him, says Maclou. Can it wait till the morning?

Yes, it can wait till the morning, says Saint Roley. Put me back on the cushions.

You can lie next to granny, says Butterball.

He places the two parts of granny either side of Saint Roley.

What's that stuff? asks Saint Roley, looking first this way then that way at oyster granny.

Potato, says Butterball.

Saint Roley has had a long day.

He closes his eyes, his electrified feathers settle down somewhat. He murmurs a thank you to granny, and falls asleep in the sweet atmosphere of potato......

.......

Will you look at that, says Méen. Sleeping, so peacefully.

I'm looking, says Maclou. I am reminded once again that we all have reason to be thankful.

Indeed, says Macloy, except perhaps for Saint Malo, who is still lost at sea.

Of course, says Méen. And Butterball, whom I prevented from eating the globby potato.

Why was that? asks Maclou.

He might have got a gippy tummy, says Méen, and then we'd have ALL been in trouble.

Oh yes, the Virgin, says Maclou. But all things considered, it's been a good day.

.....

Oyster granny, suffering from hardening lumps of potato, lying beside a slowly discharging bird, and facing the prospect of a sand burial tomorrow, might well think otherwise.