Hugo: I need you to sit down, Darling.
I’ve got some rather frightful news.
Tabitha: What? Not the cleaner? How much family does she have in Poland anyway?
Hugo: I’m afraid it’s worse than that, Tabs.
Cornwall- well, it’s dropped off the map.
Tabitha: What in hell’s name are you talking about? Dropped off where?
Hugo: Into the sea.
It got overloaded in August and couldn’t take the weight any more.
It’s taken a lot of people with it- the population of West London is down 10%.
Tabitha: Good God, not Padstow? Not Rick Stein’s restaurant?
Hugo: Sunk. Like a mini gastro-Atlantis.
Tabitha: What about us? Where are we supposed to take our UK hols?
Have you even thought about that?
Hugo: It’s brutal, I know, but- just hear me out- there’s Devon and Dorset and some parts of Somerset are really quite…
Tabitha: For Christ’s sake, Hugo, have you lost your tiny mind? Next you’ll be suggesting we go up North or to Wales.
‘Hey kids, Daddy’s decided we’re going to Pontyprydd this Summer. No, don’t cry, you’re bound to bump into all your friends there- it’ll be just like the Eden Project but with inbreds and sheep.’
What, and if Mini Boden goes bust we’re all supposed to romp off to George at Asda with a stiff upper lip- is that it?
Hugo: Calm down, Cupcake. It isn’t all bad.
Some of the wait-lists on schools are down and there’s a cracking deal on clotted cream at Waitrose…
Tabitha: Fine, if that’s how you feel about it. But I’m block-booking Babington house for 2012.
It’ll take an age to infiltrate another county and God knows how long we’ve got ’till the south of France goes under too.