And the next 5...would you read on?
Number 6
The felt-padded base of the ivory bishop thumped faintly on the marble chessboard.
“Check,” said the girl.
The face of the old man acres the table from her was in shadow - the curtains were drawn across the street-side windows, and the chandelier overhead hung crookedly because of the gas-saving mantle screwed into it - and all she could see under the visor of his black cap was the gleam of his thick spectacles as he peered at the chess pieces.
Both of them hated to lose.
Number 7
It’s a sad fact of modern life that if you drive long enough, sooner or later you must leave London behind. If you drive north-east up the A12 you eventually come to Colchester, Britain’s first Roman capital and the first city to be burned down by that red-headed chavette from Norfolk known as Boudicca. I knew all this because I’d been reading the Annals of Tacitus as part of my Latin training. He’s surprisingly sympathetic to the revolting Brits, and scathing about the unpreparedness of the Roman generals who thought more of what was agreeable than expedient. The classically educated chinless wonders who run the British Army obviously took the admonition to heart because Colchester is now the home to their toughest soldiers, the Parachute regiment. Having spent many a saturday night as a probationary PC wrestling squaddies in Leicester Square, I made sure I stayed on the main road and bypassed the city altogether.
Number 8
It was Tuesday evening and so William’s friend, Greenlaw, from the Buntingham Grammar School, was there. When William dropped the stub of his cigarette into his coffee cup and said, “Well, what about a game?” Greenlaw nodded and the replied solemnly: “Let us play at the pieces.”
Number 9
At seven fifteen a.m., his bedroom slightly colder than the vacuum of space, Joshua Joseph Spark wears a longish leather coat and a pair of his father’s golfing socks. Among other differences, natural golfers do not acquire their socks by hijacking a lorryload destined for St Andrews. It isn’t done. Golf is a religion of patience. Socks come and socks go, and the wise golfer waits, sees the pair he wants, and buys it without fuss. The notion that he might put a Thompson sub-machine gun in the face of the burly Glaswegian driver, and tell him to quit the cab or adorn it…well. A man who does that is never going to get his handicap down below the teens.
Number ten
There was a harsh gale blowing on the night Yarvi learned he was a king. Or half a king, at least.
Number 6
The felt-padded base of the ivory bishop thumped faintly on the marble chessboard.
“Check,” said the girl.
The face of the old man acres the table from her was in shadow - the curtains were drawn across the street-side windows, and the chandelier overhead hung crookedly because of the gas-saving mantle screwed into it - and all she could see under the visor of his black cap was the gleam of his thick spectacles as he peered at the chess pieces.
Both of them hated to lose.
Number 7
It’s a sad fact of modern life that if you drive long enough, sooner or later you must leave London behind. If you drive north-east up the A12 you eventually come to Colchester, Britain’s first Roman capital and the first city to be burned down by that red-headed chavette from Norfolk known as Boudicca. I knew all this because I’d been reading the Annals of Tacitus as part of my Latin training. He’s surprisingly sympathetic to the revolting Brits, and scathing about the unpreparedness of the Roman generals who thought more of what was agreeable than expedient. The classically educated chinless wonders who run the British Army obviously took the admonition to heart because Colchester is now the home to their toughest soldiers, the Parachute regiment. Having spent many a saturday night as a probationary PC wrestling squaddies in Leicester Square, I made sure I stayed on the main road and bypassed the city altogether.
Number 8
It was Tuesday evening and so William’s friend, Greenlaw, from the Buntingham Grammar School, was there. When William dropped the stub of his cigarette into his coffee cup and said, “Well, what about a game?” Greenlaw nodded and the replied solemnly: “Let us play at the pieces.”
Number 9
At seven fifteen a.m., his bedroom slightly colder than the vacuum of space, Joshua Joseph Spark wears a longish leather coat and a pair of his father’s golfing socks. Among other differences, natural golfers do not acquire their socks by hijacking a lorryload destined for St Andrews. It isn’t done. Golf is a religion of patience. Socks come and socks go, and the wise golfer waits, sees the pair he wants, and buys it without fuss. The notion that he might put a Thompson sub-machine gun in the face of the burly Glaswegian driver, and tell him to quit the cab or adorn it…well. A man who does that is never going to get his handicap down below the teens.
Number ten
There was a harsh gale blowing on the night Yarvi learned he was a king. Or half a king, at least.
