Last summer, I went to Budapest, Hungary to teach little children English. Although it was not the easier journey due to the language barrier and the fact that they were so young some of them barely could speak their own mother tongue, let alone understand another foreign language, it was all worthwhile when I see the smiles on their faces, and their parents were appreciative of the effort. :-)
Best summer ever!
Naomi propped her dainty elbows atop the windowsill.
“Life is not a highway strewn with flowers,” crooned her angelic and mellifluous voice in profound despair and poignant sorrow.
“Do you fancy me?”
Had her heart thumped any louder or speedier, the neighbouring seagulls would have broken into a fervid dance to the tempo of her unabated febrility. She willed herself to calm down, as blood catapulted frenetically through her veins insofar as she was ate up with vertigo, and him to respond, which, after the pause of half a minute, when the air of distant silence converted from spine-tingling to ear-splitting, he outstretched his hands and glided them along her bare tummy.
“Rumour has it,” began she, with an air of practised coquetry, “that you are a stupendous judge by way of physiognomy decipherment.”
“Word,” he chimed and arranged his tie. “To be sure you are a strumpet.”
On my third trip to Gardens by the Bay, I espied two birdies perched leisurely atop a roof. They were a great deal too spellbinding, to say the least of it, as well as to set the scene, and no sooner had I whipped out an iPhone to capture the instant, than those little creatures soared aloft and flapped away.
If truth be told, the impromptu visit that was paid on Sunday did not convey much cakes and ale at the get-go; I was ever such surfeited with the ostentatiously grandiose park, insomuch that it is impossible for the crevasses of my unscholarly brain to do otherwise than to duly recoil in more abhorrence than I can shake a stick at.