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Let me introduce you to Mr. Rupert Ruthford III. You will soon meet him again, in circumstances far more dramatic...
Rupert's day started like any other day.
After cooking their breakfast and sending the children on their way to school, he was standing in the kitchen, busy preparing his pack lunch before leaving for work. One sandwich – brown bread, two slices, margarine on one, mayonnaise light on the other, ham, one slice, lettuce, two leaves – and one apple, peeled and pre-cut in quarters, as usual. In the process, he was sipping, absent-mindedly, his weak white decaffeinate coffee with, as it was his birthday, one sugar, lost in no particular thoughts.
His wife, Bernadette – who's parents wanted a boy and weren't far off the mark – was still upstairs, having a lay-in, like every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday. On Sunday, she would generally indulge in a longer one, followed by a nap.
Today, she would eventually rise and carry on with her mysterious daily routine. Rupert never dwelled upon what she could fill her time with... Rupert never dwelled upon much.
Welcome ! Bienvenue ! Willkomen !
Les textes présentés ici sont issus de ma culture biologique. Quelques défauts et autres erreurs grammaticales, syntaxiques et/ou orthographiques peuvent, peut-être (sûrement), avoir subsisté ; que voulez-vous, les produits bio sont rarement parfaits mais n'en ont, paraît-il, que plus de saveur...
...
... et puis on se trouve les excuses qu'on peut.
Merci de votre indulgence.
And, for our English speaking friends, this way please : Jeffw's Inn
(Oh ! And this is a literary blog, by the way)
jeudi 5 novembre 2009
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that's very nicely written, Jeffw!
RépondreSupprimersandwiches are mechanically prepared like some clean and fill their guns! i hope it will turn into a novel :)
and me i hope it will turn into a french novel ;)
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