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Archiver > GEN-TRIVIA-ENG > 2003-02 > 1044394714


From: "D. Griffiths" <>
Subject: RE: [trivvies] Sharon's emporium.
Date: Wed, 5 Feb 2003 10:38:34 +1300
In-Reply-To: <000901c2cc83$27f75d60$0fea86d9@vaisey>


:-)) and we all know where you was at the time.......Trivington!!! :-)

Well done Liz.

Di





I wrote this recently for homework:


Stars twinkle brightly in the night sky; a hard frost covers the ground in a
mantle of jewels that sparkle in the moonlight; wisps of smoke lazily drift
upwards from cottage chimneys; the moon lights a path on the gentle swell of
the calm sea in the bay and an air of expectation electrifies the
atmosphere. Curtains are closely pulled behind mullioned windows, shutting
out the crisp winter’s chill. In one cottage a chink of light escapes from
one corner, allowing sight of the festivities inside.

The living room has a low-beamed ceiling and an open fire behind a
brass-topped fender. On the walls sprigs of berried holly top the pictures
and along the dark oak beams are coloured paper chains. Between the
pictures are strings of Christmas cards with pictures of robins, snowmen,
Christmas trees and boughs of holly. On one side of the hearth are some
easy chairs, on the other is an old wooden settle and in front is a large
fluffy rug on a deep red carpet. The fire crackles and spits, its flames
flickering patterns on the walls.

I sit on the rug in front of the fire, my toes sinking into the pile of the
rug. My back feels chilly whilst my cheeks are rosy from the warmth in
front of me. I pick up the toasting fork with an ornamental Celtic knot
handle and spear it into one of the teacakes sitting on a plate beside me.
Leaning forward I hold the teacake close to the flames and the sticky top
soon dries dull and the currants wrinkle in the heat. I turn the teacake
over, wincing as my fingers touch the hot teacake, before returning it to
the fire. Steam slowly rises as the smell of spiced sweetness wafts through
the air and the teacake turns a golden brown. I put it down on a wooden
kitchen block and pull a knife along the top of the slab of golden butter.
The heat has softened the butter so that it oozes up against the knife
blade. The knife scrapes over the crispy teacake outside and the butter
forms little beads before it seeps into the soft inside. Breathing deeply
to savour the smell, I slowly raise it to my mouth, tongue stretched out to
catch the drips of butter. My teeth sink through the crunch to the soft
liquid gold inside, soft as the snow gently falling outside.

The fire crackles as a log slips; a myriad of tiny sparks are drawn up the
chimney. I pick up another log from the basket on the hearth and place it
on the fire. Sparks and flames increase as I use the poker on the fire; I
gaze into the flames and become mesmerized by the flickering shapes until I
am soon lost in dreams.

Liz (UK)



And do they serve toasted tea-cakes with lots of butter oozing from them in
Nellie's tearooms? They do?! Right, never mind the present need to watch
my
diet, I'm on my way - from fond childish memories of Bobbies' tearooms in
Bournemouth yonks ago !!

Howie

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