They are staying at a place run by the nuns of St Vincent de Paul and so far haven't been beaten (as I told her they would be) or fed drugged spaghetti bolognaise (as DS told her they would be). When he stayed there he said they were given the most disgusting spag bol ever but they couldn't stop eating it. Proof positive that it was drugged apparently! She also reports that the nuns liked her nun jokes.
"Which ones did you tell them sweetypie", I asked nervously.
"Just the 'what goes black/white/black/white/black/white? A nun rolling down a hill. What goes black/white/haha? The nun that pushed her' one. "
Oh god, she's clearly inherited her mother's predilection for inappropriate comments! I can't pass a nun without swearing or blaspheming, neither of which I normally do. It's just something about being in the presence of one that sends it spouting forth from my mouth.
And not many can claim to have insulted a veritable British institution. I remember having lunch in the restaurant at Shepperton Studios while a certain Michael Caine was filming the Muppet Christmas Carol.
"God, how far has his career gone down the toilet? He's reduced to acting with puppets!" I pronounced loudly, swinging back on my chair and catching the one of the man sitting behind me.
"Oh, sorry.............Mr Caine"I apologised, red faced, and withered ever so slightly under the force of his glare.
"Do you think he heard me?" I whispered to my fellow diners.
They nodded in unison.
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