Summary
OUR 11-year-old son was strumming his guitar in the back bedroom beneath a bush of self-willed hair, which rose and fell to the cadences of what might adventurously have been described as the melody.
The sun crept silently up the windows in the conservatory, where I sat, humming a Highland lament, which touched many of the emotions experienced by whisky-breathed clansmen dripping tartan at the funeral of a revered chieftain.See the full content of this document
Extract
You Would Perhaps Not Expect a Bruised Bottom to Bring so Much Joy
But by far the most noise came from my wife who was playing her Hoover on the hall carpet.
It roared, it wheezed, it howled, it hissed, it wailed, it grumbled and it screeched, following note for note the s...See the full content of this document
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