My love has been unfaithful. I suspect Penelope Ora in the second violins is the object of his affections but I know Natasha Zonk on the cello also cannot be trusted. I have placed an agent on the inside of the orchestra and she is slowly closing in on the truth.
Author: Rosie Beaumont Page 1 of 3
My new online life is not working out as I had hoped. I am no longer in control of what I stock in my cupboards or what I wear on my head. And my numerous online purchases have yet to become the central joy of my existence.
The wind picked Doris up and carried her high, high up into the sky. As she sailed over the trees and houses in her street she imagined the inhabitants moving through their day.
The construction of a family photo collage is an emotional roller coaster ride that should not be embarked upon lightly or often. One requires an enormous amount of time to find the requisite snaps, and the fortitude to take necessary risks such as crawling into the murky netherworld beneath the bed in search of old shoe boxes. I put several there just last spring, full of old photos, I know I did!
“Are you sure this will work?” asked Lucy.
Diddle, diddle, diddle, dee.
Monty Goode was a book-seller by trade but on weekends he dabbled in art. The garden he lovingly nurtured with his partner, Arthur, was full of his efforts.There were twenty-eight mini clay Buddhas he had created one Christmas, all nestled amongst the Frangipanis, a mosaic bird bath featuring pieces of a china plate he had hurled at Arthur one night, and a series of plaster of Paris marsupials that stood together, a little sadly, after having sagged in the rain.
The last time I saw Millie he was heading for the Left Bank. We had met for a cognac and an argument – the usual affair although so less frequent these days. We said our goodbyes across the road from the cafe and then I watched him walk quickly away, his jittery gait marking him out in the crowd. I never thought the back of his shabby, long brown coat would be the last I would see of my dear friend.
Mr Hoto looked out the car window and sighed. The smog was too thick to see through again. His vacancy light would not be turned on today.
She kissed his head a thousand times but he did not stir from his deep, adolescent sleep. The mother in her wanted to shake him awake and make sure he understood every possible thing. But somehow, she managed to stand back and more like a guardian angel, trust that her love would flow into his dreams.