Why Me Words: 1,193
If you can't think of anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all. Which is why, when I yank open the side-door the village hall, and spot the one empty chair next
I was sitting on a bench by the pond in the park with a sandwich, feeling like an old man with time to kill and no better way to do it. It was a good place to come to if you needed to get out of the office for half an hour, needing fresh air and some sanity.
The estate agent was finishing his first viewing of the house. He told the vendor, Martin Lethbridge, it would sell quickly. It was a large old house which Martin had grew up in and his parents had recently died. The agent said he’d put it on the market next week
Shortly before five o'clock, the water reached the end of the garden.
'Are you worried, Cai? It's come up so suddenly,' asked Georgina.
'Not unduly, they must have closed the Burnham Barrier early.'
Their neighbour, Gillis
Jerry was seriously wondering if the best course of action if you were feeling unwell was to spend forty five minutes in an enclosed space with twenty other sick people, many of whom were coughing, wheezing, or sneezing. Finally he reached for his coat and was
Somewhere in the sun baked land of Provence, between the obstinately snow- capped Alps and the sparkling blue Mediterranean, stands a large rocky outcrop three kilometres inland from the busy coast.
The hill which juts out so starkly from the alluvial plain