Their terrace is touched with the taint of their terrible taste. Tacky terracotta tigers tread between tiny tepees in the tulip boxes. These are tightly packed on the edge of the toffee coloured tiles which should only be found in toilets from twenty to thirty years ago and then only because people did not know better at the time.
Their thousand times enlarged game of tiddly-wink might tickle the fancy a trifle, but it would hardly tease forth tears if the terrace in its totality was terminated.
I’ve tried to tell them tons of times, but apparently to add to their lack of tact, they have trashed their telephone, and I don’t do telegraphs which seems to be the only other type of telecommunication they receive.
It seems that I just have to try to make my trees grow taller, before I am tempted to tear it all to shreds or worse tip off a tabloid.
adithyaentertainment
/ June 19, 2013Reblogged this on Adithya Entertainment.
W. R. Woolf
/ June 19, 2013Nice! Thank you!